I Love the Rain the Most
by razmatazz
Summary: A child of vintage shirts, faded jeans, and a precocious balance of art and the sciences, Wyatt Grey's quiet world is about to be rocked to its foundations like a good rock and roll song.
1. Beautiful Things

**Title: I Love the Rain the Most**

**Disclaimer: **Okay, so I don't own Grey's or any of the characters on it. Shonda does, lucky woman (if I were here I'd totally brag about it, like wear a t-shirt proclaiming 'i OWN mcdreamy' because she really, literally does). Also, the title is a song by Joe Purdy, so I don't own that either. The man's a genius. Listen to him. And naturally, the songs within the story aren't mine.

I own Wyatt Grey, though. But that's about it.

**A/N: **It's an overused theme, all these doctors' kids, but you never know; you might like it so give it a shot. Wyatt Grey was just busting to get out and be written (though I did this first chapter while I was bored and waiting for class so sorry if it's barely coherent). Also, I don't live in Seattle so a few make-believe places and such and such might appear. I apologize to any Seattle-ers — Seattle–ans? — Seattle born-and-bred people if they disagree on anything they might find here. Lastly, this fic is AU-ish, because I want it to be. AU in the sense that…well, you'll just have to find out as the story unfolds.

That being said, let's get this show on the road.

**I. Beautiful Things**

A drizzly Thursday afternoon found a companion in Wyatt Grey, nine years old, who sat idly in the nearly empty playground of his school, staring up at the sky and wondering how he could draw the rain.

He was sitting on the merry-go-round alone but not at all lonely, the toes of his intentionally scuffed-up Adidas sneakers digging into the damp earth, listening to the soft squeaking the rusty gears made as he pushed and pulled the ride slightly to amuse himself. A grey Dartmouth hoodie protected him from the light smatter of rain and beside him sat his carelessly-stuffed backpack, the tip of a crested black school tie peeking out from the bag's semi-closed mouth.

His mom was late.

Wyatt blinked as a raindrop landed square in his eye and he raised his hand to rub it. He stopped himself from doing so when he remembered Cristina's voice in his head, threatening him about abscess and eye infections like she'd done over a million times in the course of his life. He used his sleeve to do it instead. _Technically, _he didn't rub his eyes by doing that.

His gaze landed on the raindrops that had collected in little glistening orbs on the merry-go-round's cool metal surface. He could see the rainbows that formed on each drop's flimsy surface as the gentle afternoon sunlight hit them. Each breath he drew made them quiver. It was beautiful. His hands itched to draw them.

A familiar honking made him look up, and he saw the silver Camry just as it pulled up at the gates. Wyatt smiled as he picked up his backpack.

"I'm sorry I was late, babe." Meredith frowned, disappointed in herself. She was still wearing her scrubs. "Emergency surgery."

Wyatt nodded patiently as he buckled himself into his seat, tapping his foot to the rhythm of Tears for Fears humming through the car's speakers. The hood on his head was pulled down to reveal a mop of dark, shaggy hair that flopped down into an angular, cockily handsome face.

"It's okay."

"I brought you a turkey sandwich. Izzie made it for you. Alex finally did the groceries, I guess," Meredith handed her son a triangle of a sandwich, carefully and lovingly wrapped in wax paper. It was still cool from the hospital fridge. Wyatt took it gratefully.

"Hey guess what, Mom, I won the Art Contest," he beamed at her, his deep gray-blue eyes sparkling proudly. She smiled back at him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey, that's great, Wy!" She watched as he rummaged through his messy backpack, keeping a careful eye on the road as she did. "Was that the one for the school poster thing?"

"Yeah, I got 50 dollars for a prize and this," He showed her a shiny gold ribbon that proudly displayed his name, another one to add to his rapidly growing collection. He started unwrapping his sandwich, peeling off the wax paper oh so carefully with long nimble fingers.

"Mr. Weir says I'll probably be a future Monet, so he's keeping all of my art projects this year."

Meredith laughed. "Does Mrs. O'Toole think the same way with your Math homework? I'm betting you your newly earned 50 dollars that you haven't even begun working on those mean, median, mode problems."

Wyatt mirrored his mother's chuckle halfway through chewing a piece of mayonnaise and mustard slathered turkey and lettuce.

"Aw Mom, you know I'm smart."

"I do." Meredith had to agree. She knew what the IQ tests always said. But Wyatt chose his own path. He always had, and with speed too. A talent she knew she never had. Wyatt would always know what he wanted the moment he'd be given a choice.

Secretly, Meredith was thankful her son always chose Art over Science, though Preston wasn't always as enthusiastic, especially with the many times Wyatt had rejected his most prominent godfather's offers to undergo special _advanced _training in Math and Science.

It was always beauty over logic, heart over head. Wyatt made her proud.

"How'd the Science test go?"

"Got an 'A'."

He wasn't bragging, it was a fact.

"How'd I make such a smart, handsome, talented kid like you?" she chuckled as she turned a corner. Wyatt shrugged, enjoying every bit of the conversation.

"You just got lucky, Mom."

He laughed as he avoided the quick jab Meredith's finger made towards his side.

_All for freedom and for pleasure_

_Nothing ever lasts forever_

_Everybody wants to rule the world._

* * *

Lazy afternoons after school usually found Wyatt in the basement of the large Seattle house he shared with his mother. From the car, he'd go up to his room before venturing downstairs, to get rid of his uniform and change into a pair of faded jeans and a random (vintage) shirt he'd pull out of his closet, muttering old rock songs under his breath, screechy cool music from his Mom's era that he'd been listening to even as a baby. Screw Mozart and Mother Goose. 

The Clash felt good to sing today. He didn't feel like singing to White Stripes that echoed from his Mom's room down the hall.

He clomped downstairs to the basement, a room Meredith had given him the honor of practically owning, as he fingered an air guitar and sang words that streamed out of the earphones he had plugged in his ears.

_So you rock around and think that_

_you're the toughest _

_In the world_

_the whole wide world_

Bright fluorescent light illuminated the walls of the basement that were covered in tacked-up sheets of rough canvas paper, each sheet containing a glorious symphony of colors, lines and shapes. They came alive the minute the light hit, and each pulsed with its own throbbing energy so real that it made him feel tingly all over. One single wall was made of cork, and it was where he placed his ribbons. His Mom said that they'd have a shelf built when he was a little older, when he'd start winning _trophies_.

_But you're streets away from where _

_it gets the roughest_

_you ain't been there._

The walls also had pictures.

Photographs, smudged with fingerprints and creased from handling, were taped to the cold cement. Wyatt had put them up himself. Sometimes he used them as subjects for his drawings, but most of the time he just had them around for company. There were pictures of him, his Mom, Bailey, George, Izzie, Preston, Alex, Cristina.

And _him_.

Wyatt had found it one day by accident, when Izzie had been in the house to fix him dinner during one of the days his Mom had to work an all-nighter. It had been tucked into one of the cookbooks, right between gazpacho and tomato soup. His Mom's smile had mesmerized him. She was leaning on the tall, grinning man in the doctor's coat and navy blue scrubs. If he squinted, he could properly see the name stitched into the coat with blue thread. They were standing on a balcony. He knew where that balcony was. His Mom had always said Seattle Grace had some of the best views of the city.

He'd leapt off the kitchen counter with it in hand and now it was there, in the basement, held up by Magic tape. Wyatt kept it right next to the corkboard, and he glanced at it longer than he wanted to as he tacked the new ribbon up. The music spilling into his ears had been replaced by a hollow silence that made his temples throb.

And before he could stop himself, a phrase formed unintentionally in his head, slowly and clearly, the words pushing through a haze before coming alive to settle on the tip of his tongue, fizzing like Pop Rocks only with a slight bitter taste:

_Look Dad, another one._

* * *

"He left, Wy-bug. It's…it's too complicated." 

The last time he tried _that _conversation again, he'd gone with George, as everyone else, including his Mom, had just about had it with thequestion he always asked. Not surprisingly, he was disappointed.

"Didn't he know about me?"

George had been silent.

"You're never gonna tell me the whole truth, are you?" He'd sighed as he played with George's stethoscope, wishing he could put it on George's head and in doing so it would tell him about the one secret they'd kept from him since childhood. Secrets were more important to listen to than hearts. Secrets could tell you _why_ your heart was broken.

Like his Mom's was.

"No," George had shaken his head, and had given him an apologetic look. "It's not my place, bud. I'm sorry."

His shoulders had slumped. He'd nearly given up. But he'd understood.

"It's not your fault," Wyatt had returned the stethoscope.

"Maybe when you're older…" George's voice had trailed away with false hope. He'd always hated to disappoint. Wyatt had cocked his head at him in an eerily similar way to someone they'd all known, an unruly lock of familiar dark wavy hair falling into his sincere face. A frown similar to Meredith's had been evident on his lips.

"I'm nine. Nine is old."

"Nine is good. In fact, nine is _great._" Where had the time gone? In a few years George knew his godson would be towering above him

"Nine is _old, _George."

Wyatt had sighed for the nth time.

* * *

There are times in one's life when they'd be alone but not feel particularly lonely, that it's okay to be alone, to be unwatched, and still feel safe. 

Wyatt felt like that most of the time, but there were certain times, that a little twinge in his heart would evolve into an ache so strong, he'd realize that he _was _lonely for something, and he hated it. He hated it whenever he felt that way.

Wyatt stared harder at the picture, almost willing the man to jump out of it and materialize right there in the basement. His eyes watered as he squinted and he pulled the earphones out of his ears and let them dangle down to the ends of his jeans. He sighed at the picture, half-disappointed and half-annoyed with himself.

Nine wasn't good. Nine meant he'd been waiting too long for some guy he didn't even know to come back. Nine meant him and his Mom celebrating nine years of Christmas and birthdays and Thanksgiving with Preston, Alex, George, Izzie and Cristina (occasionally, with Bailey too, and William and Tucker). Nine meant years of Alex teaching him how to play baseball and soccer, George coming to Career Day, and Preston paying for drum lessons from a professional musician. Nine meant years of defending someone he only knew the name of whenever he came up during a nasty playground argument. Nine meant people finally stopping asking him about the whereabouts of his Dad, and finally understanding the presence of the six different adults he was usually with.

Wyatt was starting to get tired of waiting. And hoping. He wasn't a moron. He'd be ten soon anyway.

The ache got stronger, but he'd already learned how to push the hurt back inside of him and keep it there, so he did.

Maybe nine meant he was supposed to let it go.


	2. Spin All You Want

**A/N: **So hi. Hello. Thank you to all those who've reviewed! I was surprised, truthfully, but there they are, and I feel happy. Well, to answer some of the questions posted on the reviews, yes I was (was because I quit being one when Cole died/left) a Charmed fan and that's where I first heard the name 'Wyatt', but it never quite appealed to me back then. Wyatt Grey's name just came up suddenly while I was walking towards my univ's cafeteria one morning and it just seemed right. He's artistic because, well, artists are cool. And Wyatt's cool. He was raised by all the interns and Preston and Bailey for God's sake. So he's cool. Anyway, this is the second chapter. Forgive me if I don't write fast enough but please do review. Sometimes I get ideas from them which, in turn, might give you guys chapters quicker.

Doesn't it just suck that there aren't any new episodes until January? Man. I predict a boom of fanfiction from all crazed Grey's fans just so their beast is fed. Haha.

Have a good one!

* * *

**II. Spin All You Want**

Three weeks into October, Wyatt stood leaning against the doorway of his Mom's bedroom, wearing jeans that were frayed at the ends and a brown Beatles shirt slightly splattered on with paint from a now stationary paintbrush that was tucked behind his ear. His arms were crossed over his chest and he twiddled with the end of his sleeve with his fingers.

Meredith sat on her bed, her dirty blonde hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She was wringing her hands and she was biting her lips nervously.

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to try dating again."

It had been nine years. It wasn't any news to Wyatt. He shrugged nonchalantly.

"You didn't have to ask me, Mom."

"I wanted to."

"It's okay."

His Mom suddenly looked a little excited. "Yeah? It's okay? Seriously?"

"Seriously." Wyatt threw her a smile.

* * *

The first date came in the form of Sam, an architect who had nothing to do at all with Seattle Grace. Wyatt had met him previously, and he was reminded a little of a Ken doll.

Now he was outside, ringing the doorbell for the seventeenth time. Wyatt had counted.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, surveying his Mom quietly. She was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs in her new black dress. Her hair was perfect and she had on makeup and she was biting her just-manicured nails. Wyatt thought she was beautiful, but he knew too that she was…this was…

_Ding-dong! _Eighteen. "Meredith? Wyatt? Hello?"

Sam wasn't going to quit anytime soon.

"Mom."

Meredith looked at him, her face slightly flushed.

"We'll drop you off at Bailey's okay?"

"Mom."

_Ding-dong! _Nineteen. "You guys?"

Wyatt shuffled over to Meredith and sat beside her on the step. He reached out and held her hand.

"You don't have to do this if you really didn't want to, Mom." His voice was quiet, hushed. It wasn't for Sam's sake.

He knew a forced smile when he saw one.

"No, I'm ready. I have to be ready." Meredith held her son's face in her palm then rubbed his cheek to wipe away an orange streak that had found its way there. "It's time."

"Mom…"

"It's time, honey. We can do this."

Wyatt sighed. He felt apprehensive, but maybe it was because he wasn't used to this.

"We'll be okay."

_Ding-dong!_

Wyatt nodded. "Okay." He watched as Meredith stood up and smoothed her dress, kissing his forehead lightly as she did.

"How do I look, babe?"

"Great. You look stunning, Mom." He gave her a supportive smile.

"I love you. Grab your coat and you drawing stuff." She turned to the door. "Coming, Sam!"

The doorbell ringing finally stopped.

* * *

The rhythmic tapping of doodled-on black Converse sneakers on shiny hardwood floor accompanied the soft crooning of the Rat Pack that floated in the air.

His Mom was with Sam. Having dinner. Somewhere. It had been two weeks.

"Wy, do you want to help me make dinner?" Preston asked as he crossed the living room from the kitchen, cutting right through Dean Martin's voice.

Wyatt looked up at his guardian for the day. It was an open invitation. For bonding. Preston loved to bond, and Wyatt never minded.

Dinner sounded good. His thumbs were starting to ache from playing with the PSP anyway. An image of too-tall basketball players froze on the screen, the ball in mid-air.

Cristina was on the couch beside him reading a medical journal with covers that glared harshly under the pin lights. Wyatt saw her slink downward at the mention of the words 'help' and 'dinner'. He giggled.

"Yeah, okay."

He slid off the suede couch with a _shoop _sound to follow Preston as the older man gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. A turn landed him in front of the sink where the pale speckled green apple-scented hand wash sat, ready to get rid of that day's grime and acrylic paint stains from his palms. Preston punched the air with his fingers as startling trumpets split through their background music.

"Can't you just teach him to do something normal, Burke, like say, uhhh…jack a car?" Cristina frowned as she watched her husband hand Wyatt a clean dishtowel.

Wyatt held his dripping arms up, like how surgeons did it, and Preston hung the towel on the crook of his arm. He didn't know why he did it, but he saw a hint of a smile tug on the ends of Preston's lips when he did.

"Well, _you _be normal and cook for once then I'll consider doing that," Preston smiled at her.

"Forget I said anything." The PSP found its way to Cristina's hands. "Wy-bo, watch your fingers, okay? You wouldn't want any stitches. Burke, don't even think about handing him a knife. Go all Iron Chef on your own."

"Uh-huh," Wyatt had started stirring the marinara sauce that was merrily bubbling in the pot on the stove. It was a rich red and tickled his senses. Tomato and rosemary floated to his nostrils. He wondered if he could make a volcano and have the marinara sauce as the lava.

The doorbell rang.

"Honey…" Preston was busy slicing up a chicken breast. A sharp thump sounded as Cristina jumped to her feet.

"If it's Alex coming to collect money from me I'm going to kick his…"

The door was yanked open fiercely. Cristina had never liked doing anything without a little force. Wyatt noticed when she stopped talking.

"Uh…"

"Honey, who is it?" Preston stopped slicing and wiped the knife clean with a dishtowel. Wyatt paid no attention. He spooned a small portion of the marinara sauce into his mouth and cringed at how hot it was. Hot, but good. It would definitely make great lava. The volcano could be mashed potatoes.

"I hear this is where the new Chief of Surgeries lived."

The voice made his ears prick up. It wasn't anyone he knew. Wyatt turned to his godfather to gauge his reaction. To his surprise, Preston had frozen to his spot as heavy footsteps crossed the threshold from the hallway to the living room.

"Burke, it's…uh…it's…"

A tall man, dressed in a dark jacket over an indigo sweater rocked on his heels in the living room, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his khakis. Tired eyes as deep and as blue as the ocean pored into Wyatt and, suddenly, he couldn't move. The man cocked his head to the side, a small smile on his face.

"Hello," Derek said to him. His voice reflected a hint of confusion. "Your…son, Preston?"

TBC


	3. Know By Heart

**A/N: **This is a filler chapter, since everything is seen through Wyatt's eyes. Sam's starting to wedge himself in at the same time Derek is, though the former is doing it intentionally, since he is vying for both Wyatt's and Mer's affections.

* * *

**III. Know By Heart**

He remembered a week ago Sam had picked him up from school for the first time. The guy had a cool car: a gleaming black Porsche with personalized plates. Wyatt had drawn versions and versions of it over and over in his sketchbook, adding in little details here and there, like rocket ends or spiked hubcaps.

Wyatt had always thought the car never suited Sam somehow. He really did look like a Ken doll brought to life, with the neat sandy brown hair and green eyes and perfect teeth, plus the preference for jeans and plaid shirts. Kens didn't have Porsches. Kens had Jeeps. Or Ford Thunderbirds.

"What're you doing here?" Wyatt had asked, hitching his backpack up his shoulder. Sam had smiled at him, shielding his eyes from the sun. He'd held out something with a bronze colored-ribbon wrapped around it.

"Your Mom asked me to pick you up since she had to work. Here," Wyatt had taken the gift. They were a set of drawing pens, just like the ones Sam used for his work. Sam had seen his drawings the other day. He'd grinned.

"Thought you might like them. You draw very well."

Sam had admired his drawing of their house. He'd said something about symmetry and light and how it had been captured very well. Wyatt had thought he was just being nice. That drawing sucked.

"Hey, thanks," he'd said.

"Wyatt?" it had been his teacher, Miss Lionel. She'd looked at Sam. "I'm sorry, but who are you? The children can only ride with grown-ups the school has cleared for pick-up and drop-off."

"I'm Sam Owens. Meredith asked me to pick Wyatt up since it's a busy day at the hospital today and she nor her colleagues can make it…"

Miss Lionels had turned to Wyatt, a dainty arm to her hip and a wrinkle on her forehead.

"Do you know him?"

He'd nodded, fingering the pen set. His fingerprints made marks on the plastic case. He'd looked up at her, choosing his words very carefully in his head.

"He's…my Mom's…well…"

He couldn't say the word out loud. Something in him hadn't wanted to. Sam was nice. In fact, Sam was very nice (Alex could even be meaner) and Wyatt liked him very much. But he was, well…

"I'm Meredith's boyfriend." Sam had filled in kindly. He'd reached over to shake Miss Lionel's hand. A silver Fossil watch clinked against his arm as he did.

_Boyfriend. _

Somehow it just hadn't felt right.

And now the reason why had just arrived in Seattle.

* * *

"That was my Dad, right?" Wyatt asked Cristina as she drove them silently back to the empty house on Queen Anne's Hill. Cristina kept her eyes on the road, her face illuminated by the fluorescent streetlights they passed: darkness, then light, darkness then light. A look on her face told Wyatt she was deciding whether or not to lie to him.

"Yes, Wy-bo. That was…that was your Dad."

Wyatt's heart gave a little jump, but he didn't know if it was because he was nervous or shocked or if it was because he was actually quite glad. Hope fluttered crazily inside of him like a caged bird.

"He asked me for my name."

"Yes. And you were smart to leave out your last name," Cristina said distractedly. She gave him a pat on the head, something very un-Cristina. She looked worried and disturbed and sad all at the same time. "Good job, Wy-bo."

_I'm Wyatt._

_That's a nice name. _

"Is he staying? Is Preston going to take him in?"

He remembered the voices of the two older men conversing in the living room before they'd left. Derek had almost sounded desperate.

Derek. That was his name. No one had ever told him that before. The only name he knew that had been his Dad's was Shepherd.

Derek Shepherd.

_Why Seattle, Derek? You could get a job…practically anywhere. _

_I want Seattle, Preston…Chief. I can't think of anywhere else to go. Or anywhere else I want to be._

"I don't know, honey."

For once, Cristina sounded as if she _really _didn't know, which was weird.

But Wyatt couldn't help but feel even a _little_ excited, even though the timing wasn't exactly right. Only one thing mattered.

_He was back._

_

* * *

_

The Ramones was bouncing off the walls of their house, a technique his Mom had always used to prevent him from listening in to important grown-up conversations.

Wyatt stood by his open window, wrapped in his fatigue-inspired duvet to protect him from the November cold. The scratched hardwood floor felt frozen under his sock-clad feet but he stood his ground.

He was supposed to be asleep already. Cristina had even kissed him good night and had told him goodbye, she would be leaving after he went to his room.

He wasn't stupid. The Ramones was really even a poor way to convince him. It was playing way too loudly. His Mom had placed the speakers in front of her door too.

As if that would stop him.

Meredith had made a fatal mistake: her bedroom window was open and the sound of their voices floated clearly into the half-frozen night, high-pitched and worried. Their words were spat out fast as though they were poisoned, and Wyatt heard every single one of them.

"Seriously. Cristina. Seriously."

"Have I ever cracked a single joke in my entire life, Meredith? Least of all any jokes about _McDreamy_, for God's sakes?"

"Keep your voice down! Wyatt, somehow, some _way_, _might _hear!"

"I'm serious, Mer! Right now he's probably still with my husband knocking back seven-year-old wine because Burke doesn't have any scotch. _He's here. Derek is here." _

"Crap." Wyatt heard a palm hitting skin. It was most probably his Mom hitting herself in the forehead.

"I haven't told you the worst part yet. He's asking for a job. In Seattle Grace. From _Burke._"

There was a wretchedly long silence, and all Wyatt could hear for the next few minutes (though it seemed like an _hour _to him) were The Ramones and the pounding of his own heart. They seemed to be almost striking the same beat. He shivered in anticipation, staring wildly at the silhouette of an old elm in the distance against a backdrop of an inky purple sky with stars that hung like icicles.

"Mer, he met Wyatt. You have to do something. Burke actually told him Wy was his godson. If Derek stays, he'll be the jinx he always is and figure out at a bad time."

"Did…Wyatt like him? I mean, did Wyatt know…? God, and there's _Sam _to worry about…"

"That kid of yours is too smart for his own good. He figured it out the minute McIdiot walked into the room." Cristina sighed impatiently. "Too smart. Too smart, Mer. This is what you get for making Burke one of the godfathers, and for watching nothing but the godforsaken Discovery Channel while you were pregnant. Your child _knows._"

"Cristina…what about Sam? I mean, I actually _like _Sam…oh God…"

A cellphone rang, spearing through the night and 'I Want to Be Sedated'. It was shrill, and business-like. Cristina's phone.

"Hello?" Cristina's tone dropped. It became hushed. All Wyatt could hear was the soft release of words through lips. He couldn't understand anything.

He leaned out of the window to hear more, but as quickly as the call had come, it ended, and the slapping sound of the phone being shut clapped through the air. He heard someone mumbling, then Wyatt heard his Mom say one word very clearly:

"Shit."

TBC

* * *

**A/N: **The next one will have more of Derek. What's up, eh? Who called Cristina? What's Mer so worried about? Well you'll find out next time. For the meantime, review and tell me what your thoughts are. You never know, some of them might be true.


	4. Soul Sound

**A/N: **Okay, here's the longest chapter so far. Sort of an early Christmas present since I have an Accounting exam I have to review for. My grades are sliding. Haha.

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I read every single one of them and am happy to report that most of you guessed right about the call (one of the two dominant suggestions actually). I'm not really sure yet as to who I'm modeling Sam after. Finn actually keeps popping up in my head, but that can't happen. Any ideas? Just make sure he's blonde, has a nice smile, nice and has a preference for casual wear. He's that kind of guy. If you guys hate him already well, too bad for Sam. Haha.

As always, read, enjoy, review. Have a good one!

**

* * *

**

**IV. Soul Sound**

Sam was fast on becoming a habit (it was already his fourth time to pick up Wyatt from school) and he was beginning to act something like a song that got stuck in your head: annoying the first few times, but then you got so used to it because it was always there so you didn't mind it as much.

Sam was always there.

"You hungry?"

The plaid was gone for today and was instead replaced with a denim jacket over a button-down sky blue shirt and worn-in jeans from the Gap. Several chewed-on pencils sat calmly in his left breast pocket, alongside a small protractor.

"Huh?" Wyatt frowned then turned to him, his thoughts vanishing like a dream inside his head.

He had been thinking about Derek. He'd been thinking about Derek since _that night. _His Mom had yet to mention anything to him about Derek and his arrival. He wondered if she was just waiting for the right time or if she was waiting for everything to just pass then pretend like nothing ever happened (knowing his Mom, she probably had a million different reasons to not tell him).

Wyatt wondered if he was still in Seattle. He wondered if Preston had taken him in.

He _wanted _to know. He _had _to know. God, it was killing him. But nobody had said anything. Yet.

"Are you hungry?" Sam glanced at him and grinned, his teeth shining as though he were in a toothpaste commercial. "You had a busy day. I heard you had a Christmas play up."

Wyatt made a face, his thoughts having suddenly been shifted. He wasn't looking forward to that project. "How'd you know about that?"

"Your Mom told me," Sam replied with an easy casual air.

Oh.

"It's the Nativity story. I'm both the backdrop painter and the innkeeper," Wyatt informed him. He glanced at the back and saw the usual pile of rolled-up house plans sitting on the leather seats.

"You sound as though you don't want to do it," Sam smiled.

"Dude, have you even tried to be onstage before? I'm better off working in the wings with the props. Besides I don't even want to be the innkeeper. He's the one antagonist in what's supposed to be the happiest story." Wyatt toyed with power window button, feeling the smooth bump underneath his finger pad.

"Touché. That's the exact reason why I became an architect. I was never any good at being the star of any show. Well, except if it involved house plans and things." Sam's forehead furrowed before he released an impressed grin. "For that rather intelligent remark, a sundae's on me."

Wyatt's stomach gave a pitiful growl and he considered Sam's offer. He rubbed his belly.

"Did Mom tell me to come home or to go to the hospital?"

"I'm under strict orders to bring you to the hospital as soon as possible," Sam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in tune with the random jazz song that was playing on the radio. "But we could stop by someplace to pick up some food if you want, since the hospital's food is pretty darn crappy."

Wyatt laughed and it echoed in the car. "Okay."

"Great." The Porsche let out a hungry _vroom _as Sam stepped on the gas. "I'm starving. Your choice."

* * *

Disasters sometimes crept up on people before blowing up in their faces milliseconds after they find out what they're up against. Most people don't sense anything until right before the disaster makes itself known, fury and destruction in tow.

Wyatt was one of those people.

What was supposed to be a twenty-minute pitstop stretched into an hour (mostly comprised of detached conversations and milkshake races; Sam had even taught him how to balance a spoon on his nose), and it was well past six o' clock when Wyatt walked through the glass doors of Seattle Grace Hospital, clutching a crinkled Subway plastic bag that held a lean 6-inch cold cuts sub for Meredith. Sam followed in after him, shoving the car keys into his back pocket and forcing the soaked umbrella into a twist.

A steady rain drummed outside.

Wyatt's sneakers squeaked almost obscenely on the clean marble floor and he squinted at the bright fluorescent lights that shone down on them like spotlights. He pulled the Dartmouth hood down and shook his head, spraying a light rain of freezing cold water onto the nearby empty plastic visitors' benches. He could hear Sam's shoes tapping quietly behind him.

"Where are you supposed to go?" Sam asked, running a hand to his hair. "Your Mom will kill me if I lose you."

Wyatt snorted, glancing back at him. "I can't get lost. They practically raised me here."

He craned his neck as he walked around to catch a glimpse of anyone he knew, twisting the sandwich bag around and around in his hand as he went. There was no one.

"I have to go to one of the on-call rooms. Mom will find me there," he informed Sam. "You can't call her since she might be in surgery. She might get startled, drop the scalpel and end up being sued for malpractice. I'll be okay."

He said this with a serious face. Even though Sam had been fun for the afternoon, Seattle Grace really wasn't somewhere he was comfortable having him around in. There were too many questions that gave birth to too many explanations. He wasn't in the mood.

To his surprise and (mild) annoyance, Sam walked over to him and placed a heavy, callused hand on his shoulder.

"I'll walk you."

With a heavy sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his shoes, Wyatt led him to the nearest on-call room, his feet on autopilot. A twist of a doorknob led them inside and him straight into the path of a familiar man, who was actually now the two-week-old Head of Neurosurgery.

The indigo sweater and khakis were gone and the picture in the basement suddenly materialized in his mind like a picture in a pop-up book. Scrubs. Doctor's coat. Only now this man looked more tired. More worn, like a quilt that had already been frayed at the edges from years of use and disuse.

Blue eyes met blue-gray.

"Wyatt. Preston's godson." Derek said his name with more than a hint of bewilderment, after a moment of acknowledgement. "What are you doing here?"

Wyatt saw Meredith behind him, seated on one of the bottom bunkbeds, looking surprised and upset by his sudden appearance.

"Mom…?"

The word came out before Wyatt could stop it and he saw just as Derek's eyes widened, the color draining from his face. His throat constricted dangerously. More words threatened to come out, but they were quickly banished to the pit of his stomach. Derek suddenly looked as though he were going to throw up.

"Oh no…oh God no, Meredith…" Derek backed away from him, as though he had some sort of disease. Instinctively, Wyatt backed into Sam, who held him protectively.

"What's wrong? Mer? Wyatt?" Sam took on an icy tone as he referred to Derek. "Who _are_ you?"

Wyatt clenched his eyes shut and covered them with his hands, turning around to bury his face in Sam's stomach.

Disaster blossomed in front of him like a budding rose in spring, like blood from a fresh wound.

He didn't want to see.

* * *

The fight from Preston's office continued until they reached the house. This time, no rock music played in the background, the task having been neglected in the spur of the moment. Meredith and Derek's voices recoiled from the walls carelessly, with tones loud and angry, upset and hurt all at once. Words hung in the air long after they'd been said.

Sam had bid a reluctant goodbye for the night. George and Izzie had been tasked to get him out of the house as it went on, but Wyatt wasn't budging.

"…two _weeks_ I was working alongside you, Meredith, and you never said a thing! Not one _thing!_"

"Like that would've made a difference, Derek! Like you would've dropped _everything_ if I'd told you now!"

"I was gone for _nine years_, Jesus Christ! You could've told me then!" Derek's voice nearly cracked with frustration. "You could've told me!"

Things moved about downstairs. Chairs. Picture frames. The heavy mahogany dining-room table. Doors were slammed and slapped over and over.

"Wyatt. We are going now," George said for the nth time, now sounding as though as he meant for it to be an order, unlike the previous times he'd said it. He stood in Wyatt's doorway, his favorite wool-lined jacket over wrinkled hospital scrubs. He looked a cross between anxious and worried, but not at all angry. "I mean it."

Normally, Wyatt would've obeyed him. But not today.

"Honey, you have to get out of here. You aren't supposed to hear this." Izzie approached him and touched his arm. "C'mon, George and I'll take you to the park at least. You can take pictures of the birds and things."

"No, I'm staying," Wyatt was surprised at the quiet of his voice. He was sprawled stomach-down on his bed, staring at one of his bedroom walls, also lined with drawings, though they weren't as impressive or as finished as the ones downstairs.

He was still in his uniform, in his Mom's old Dartmouth hoodie. His sneakers had trampled on the clean duvet, leaving grass stains and dirt marks his Mom was sure to yell about later, but he didn't care.

"Wyatt Slater Grey. No. We aren't staying." George's voice floated clearly into his head but he didn't understand a single word. It somehow sounded firmer, but his parents' voices were all he could process.

Parents. The word left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

"You had Addison, Derek! Jesus Christ! _You chose her_. It wasn't only you who had to deal with that. I had to too and Wyatt did too." Meredith's voice quivered. "We moved on. We _had_ to."

"That doesn't change the fact that I had a _child _you kept from me!" Derek sounded enraged. Wyatt knew it was false. He could sense the trembling in the voice. He could sense the fear and the trepidation that came with the words.

He clutched his pillow to his chest, breathing in the familiar, safe scent of the laundry detergent his Mom used.

"_I_ _did, Derek."_

Meredith's voice sounded raw and exhausted. Defeated. As if she were tired of everything already when nothing had barely started. The words echoed through the halls and corridors. Wyatt sat up in bed, his legs taut and his ears pricked up. George hung his head and Izzie bit her lip.

"She told him?" he breathed. "She told him but he didn't come back?"

"You _what?" _He heard Derek almost spit out the last word.

"I did. I sent letters, I e-mailed, and I called. I did _everything. _You weren't there. You just weren't there. Or you didn't want to know."

Silence finally rang through downstairs. Wyatt's eyes darted from George to Izzie, his hand running anxiously through his thick wavy hair.

"She did, didn't she? She told him. He didn't come."

Hurt struck his heart like a poisoned arrow, spreading it with lightning speed through his veins into the tips of his fingers, into every cell and molecule that comprised his body.

"I gave up after his third birthday. I figured you were never coming back."

"Mer…" Derek's voice now sounded different. Apologetic. Hurt. Pitiful. Tenderness was present in his tone.

"Don't you 'Mer' me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't know it was…I was trying…with Addie…"

"Forget it, Derek. Just…forget it."

A door slamming ended the conversation. Wyatt bit his lip. His insides ached terribly. It was an ache he'd never felt before.

"Wyatt," Izzie said softly, reaching out to fondle his hair like she always did, but he ducked from her reach. Even her very touch screamed of pity.

"I'm okay," he said too quickly, too sharply. His voice betrayed him, as it came out too high, trembling. A glance at George told him the older man was sorry he had to hear. Hurt and confusion bubbled insistently inside of him.

"I'm okay." He repeated, mostly for his own belief rather than anyone else's.

TBC


	5. Set Sail for Kingdom Come

**A/N: **So we're finally on Christmas break. Thank God. My brain nearly atrophied from Accounting. Hope I pass. Haha. As promised, Wyatt's back. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**V. Set Sail for Kingdom Come**

His Mom was watching him paint. She didn't have to say anything for him to know she was there. He felt her presence press on him like a brick wall against his back. For once, her being there stifled him.

Wyatt ignored her and continued to drag the brush to and fro across the stark canvas paper. Streaks of grays and blacks (colors he never liked using but which were the only ones he wanted to use just about now) filled the empty space quickly, arranging to form the contorted face of a miserable man.

"I'm sorry, babe."

Her voice was almost like a whisper, but Wyatt heard what she said.

_Sorry for what?_

He splotched an angry eye onto the paper. Blue-gray. Like his.

A hand lightly landed on his shoulder and he almost jerked it away, knowing too well his mother's touch. Tears threatened to leak out of his eyes and onto his cheeks. He bit his lip, adamant on keeping himself together. He couldn't understand what he was feeling so sad and angry about and it frustrated him.

Usually he had all the answers he'd ever need.

"I don't want to meet him, okay?"

His voice cracked. Meredith tensed at her son's words. The floor rustled as she bent down to his level. Gently, she made him put the paintbrush down to rest on the weather-beaten antique chair the palette sat on.

"Honey, look at me. The thing Derek and I have—had—" she corrected herself quickly. "That's different from what you and he…"

"I don't care." Wyatt cut her off. He refused to meet her gaze. His Mom always managed to make him feel like such a kid. "Really, I don't care."

"Wyatt…"

"He didn't want me." The words he'd been afraid to face bubbled out of him like a river. "He didn't want to know me so I don't want to know him. I don't care. I don't have a Dad. I don't _need _a Dad. I'd rather have _Sam_ than him. I'd rather have anyone else."

It wasn't true. Not a single word of it. But he felt the need to say it out loud, to somehow convince him of it. It wasn't working, however. His throat was starting to hurt from all the unshed tears and his hands shook.

"But he does. He _does _want to get to know you." Meredith bit her lip, cursing Derek inwardly. "Give him a chance, Wy. He deserves a chance with you." She brushed a stray lock of his hair out of his face.

"Please don't make me, Mom."

Meredith sighed and pulled her son close to her. He trembled against her chest, soft waves of her lavender scent accompanying his every breath.

"Okay. Okay, honey. We'll work this out somehow."

* * *

Wyatt had read the facts. He knew the statistics of divorced couples and separated families in the country. He knew the rates that got higher every year and he knew that even in a small class such as his, half of the kids had parents who were divorced or separated.

He'd never counted himself as part of the divorced kids' crowd. After all, _his_ parents had never even married. But why did he feel as though he too was a statistic under the category?

Whatever. Grey was a much cooler name than Shepherd anyway.

"What's wrong with you?"

A hard poke knocked Wyatt back to his senses. He blinked, and he was on stage again, dressed in the innkeeper's itchy robes. One of the shepherds—Wise Men—stared at him, a confused wrinkle on his face.

"What'd you do that for?" Wyatt rubbed his arm, frowning. Liam frowned back at him with equal annoyance. The backdrop Preston and Izzie had helped him paint (the glitter was totally Izzie's idea) hung behind them, an immense canvas curtain brandishing a quaint little town at night. It quavered with every move a giggling fourth-grade props man who stood behind it made.

"You're zoning out; you'll miss your lines. Miss Lionels is going to make us stay if we mess everything up again and I can't miss basketball practice."

Wyatt shook his head defiantly. "I wasn't zoning out. I was thinking."

"You're always thinking."

Liam's pale, freckled face twisted into something of a curious expression. Dark amber-colored eyes bore through Wyatt and he almost flinched. Six years of knowing Liam told Wyatt that his best friend saw right through him like peering through cellophane.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" he growled.

"Man, what's up with you?" Liam folded his arms across his chest, his too-big azure blue robes hiding his hands and fingers from sight. "Did your Mom piss you off or something?"

"Shut up." Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. "Shut up and let's just get through this."

He didn't know if he was still talking to Liam, or if he was talking to himself.

* * *

He and Alex were tossing a baseball back and forth in the nearly frozen park, the dried grass incessantly crunching underneath their sneakers with each step they took. Bono singing 'Sunday Bloody Sunday' was the only thing Wyatt was hearing apart from the distant twitter of birds. An earphone was plugged into his left ear as the other dangled by the side of his jeans.

"So, kid," Alex's breath formed a cloud as he spoke, and he fingered the baseball before tossing it back to Wyatt, "how's school and that play you're working on?"

The question was avoidant. Wyatt knew that much.

"It's fine. The play's on the 19th. Are you coming?"

Alex snorted, as if it were the stupidest question in the world.

"Of course I'm coming. Why would I miss my favorite godson's play?"

The baseball hit Wyatt's hand with a hard slap, as if Alex were confirming what he said. His palm stung as though he'd been burnt and Wyatt shook it to relieve it of the pain. Alex laughed.

"Sorry, Wy-zer."

"That didn't hurt at _all,_" Wyatt told him. "You wimp."

"Sissy." Alex replied with a cocky grin that looked almost like his own.

"Nurse."

"Innkeeper."

Wyatt had to laugh at the last remark. He straightened up and threw the ball hard at the older man, who caught it in a flourish. His fingers were starting to get red from the cold.

"Dr. Karev."

A turn of the head Wyatt wished he had controlled brought him the sight of Derek Shepherd standing a few feet away from them, the collar of a dark Ralph Lauren coat over a turtleneck upturned to shield his neck. A leather-gloved hand clutched the end of the leash a massive black dog was attached to, and the other was hidden in the pocket of his jeans.

Wyatt stared at him, half-glad he was there but at the same time repulsed by the sight of him. Derek gave them both a weak smile.

"Dr. Shepherd," Alex acknowledged carefully, stealing a glance at his tensing godson. "Hello."

"Hello, Alex." Derek turned and looked at Wyatt, who automatically averted his gaze downward to stare at the toes of his Nikes. "Hello, Wyatt."

Wyatt bit his lip and stayed silent. Bono was still screaming in his ear, but the pounding of his heart suddenly seemed louder than it.

The silence seemed like an eternity in his mind.

"Wyatt." Alex's voice had a tone. "Derek said hi to you. What do you say, kid?"

Hands were shoved to the confines of his coat pockets as a bitter wind whistled past his ears and made them go red. His tongue emerged slowly from his mouth to wet his chapping lips.

He lifted his head, his forehead slightly crinkled into a frown. The dog had taken a seat beside Derek, its huge pink tongue hanging out past its teeth.

"Hi, Derek."

Wyatt felt the name hit his tongue like the wine Preston had made him taste during Cristina's birthday last year. Strong with a sour-bitter taste. Putrid. Disgusting. He remembered the photograph he'd banished to a drawer in the basement.

Derek looked slightly relieved. Another gloved hand appeared to run its fingers through thick graying hair. The resemblance of the action to his own habit made Wyatt feel as though a stone had settled in his stomach.

"Walking the dog, Derek?" Alex struggled to fill in the uncomfortable silence. _Derek_, as Meredith had told them to refer to old Shepherd whenever they were in Wyatt's presence. Derek. Not Shep, not Shepherd, and definitely not anything starting with Mc-, especially if they were curse words.

"Yeah," Derek nodded. He motioned to the dog. "This is Denny."

He looked hopefully at Wyatt, ignoring the look on Alex's face.

"Do you want to pet him or anything? He's a good dog, he doesn't bite."

Wyatt stared at him, as if daring him to ask him again. Derek gazed back almost pitifully. But a decision was made in a split second.

He didn't want to try. He wasn't _obligated _to try.

"I have to get home. Sam's coming over to pick up Mom and I to see a movie."

He stayed for an eighth of a second to see how Derek would handle the news before turning around and walking away. Funnily enough, the crumpled look on Derek's face didn't actually make him feel better about anything.

"Wyatt!" (That was Alex.)

It, in fact, made him feel worse.

TBC


	6. Last AN, I Swear

God, fanfiction is being pain.

I've received PMs telling me they can't review. Well, I've figured it out. It's because I deleted the Author's note, or 'Chapter 5'. For you guys to be able to review 'Set Sail...', it has to be 'Chapter 6' because if you're a signed-in reviewer and already reviewed in 'Chapter 5' (the author's note), isn't going to let you. If you guys want to review the last chapter (coz I need you to because I have to know what you think; the plot evolves that way), you can do so here. It's too much of a chore to switch around the chapters. Ugh.

Sorry for the inconvenience.


	7. TreeLined Shadows in the Distance

**VI. Tree-Lined Shadows in the Distance**

Sunday mornings were usually started with peanut-butter-and-jelly toasts (folded over, with the jelly oozing out just a little) and frosted milk in Disneyland mugs. It was usually followed by him and his Mom alone in the kitchen, coexisting peacefully as she went through paperwork she had to do for Seattle Grace and him figuring out the new sudoku puzzle in the paper.

It was a quiet, peaceful routine that Wyatt almost found mandatory, something he appreciated doing on automatic mode for some reason. Something he'd rather not have disturbed.

Especially by Derek Shepherd.

"Derek, not now please…"

Wyatt's breath hitched in his throat, the sleep that had been resting on his eyelids suddenly banished to the back of his mind. He froze halfway through stumbling downstairs into the kitchen and instead poised himself by the staircase, alert and wide-eyed.

"I'm _trying _here, Meredith, _please _just listen to me…you have to know…"

"I _don't want _to know! It's over! The past is _past, _Derek."

Derek and his Mom were standing in the living room, leaning towards each other and hissing exasperatedly each word that came out of their mouths. Wyatt peered at them through the railings, careful to stay in the shadows so he wouldn't be detected. The wooden floor felt cold under his hands and his fingers tingled.

"Meredith, Wyatt is your and my child, and I deserve a _chance _to tell you why I never came back to the both of you…"

"You had nine years. I'm sorry. I may be crazy enough to forgive you but Wyatt may not be." Meredith threw her hands in the air. "You can't just _do _this! You can't just waltz in at the most inopportune moments and expect everyone to accommodate you!"

Derek looked utterly defeated. Pity sprung unexpectedly from Wyatt's heart like a hidden spring.

"I got the first few letters, but I never opened them. Addison and I, we were trying. _I _was trying. I had to try and forget everything. Just so she and I could have a chance."

His Mom lowered her head and crossed her arms.

"Derek, don't do this to me now…"

"We tried to fix us…our marriage…everything. We left. We traveled _extensively _to try and find ourselves again. We locked up the brownstone and we just went _everywhere. _It took two years, Mer. When we came back, our marriage was over and we ended it neatly and civilly, no strings attached."

Meredith looked up at him. "But you still didn't come back."

Derek sighed. The sides of his mouth were tugged downward in a sad expression and his face looked hollow. It was a far cry from the man Wyatt remembered seeing in the picture. This man, this stranger in their living room, was broken.

"I figured you didn't want me. Hell, _I _didn't want me. I traveled. I was stationed in Africa for a year then I went to Asia and the South Pacific for work. I just wanted to be far away. I just wanted to stop hurting."

Meredith stayed silent, rubbing her fingers slowly on the sleeve of the sweatshirt she was wearing. Derek lowered his head.

"Derek, I have Sam now. I _want _Sam." Meredith's voice was quiet, and almost apologetic.

"I don't blame you."

"Why did you come back? Why did you come back _now?_"

"I wanted to see if I still had a chance. I wanted to be home." A heavy sigh. "Now all I want is for my son to know who I am. I'm sorry for doing this to you but Mer, he's the only one I truly have left."

The next words were uttered softly, but Derek's gaze was locked at Meredith's as he said them. The tone was accepting, but regretful at the same time.

"Everyone else I love has gone to someone else."

Enough was enough.

Wyatt stood up from his place and walked back to his room, his feet making muffled thumping noises as he went.

Peanut-butter-and-jelly toast and milk could wait.

* * *

The three of them sat quietly in the kitchen, with Wyatt perched uneasily on one of the stools, still dressed in the track pants and the vintage Coco Pops shirt he'd worn to bed. A plate where toast had frozen into a cardboard-like consistency and a mug showcasing Pluto sat in front of him on the tiled kitchen counter where they had been for the past half hour, untouched.

His Mom and Derek were at the kitchen table. Meredith was twiddling her fingers like what she usually did when she was anxious and Derek had his hands clasped together, his gaze flitting from Wyatt to the cereal boxes that sat on the shelf then back to Wyatt.

The silence was suffocating.

Meredith cleared her throat.

He couldn't do this.

"I have to get ready. Sam's picking me up soon. He's gonna teach me how to draft using his architect stuff."

An angry squeak borne from the stool's legs skidding on the floor resounded as Wyatt slid down from it, eager to get away from the discomfort that enveloped him.

"Wyatt."

He froze.

"Yeah?"

He forced himself to concentrate on his Mom. She'd been the one who'd called his name.

"Derek has something to ask you."

Forcefully, he met Derek's eyes.

"Uh-huh?"

The older man looked as nervous as Wyatt felt, which was weird. Derek shouldn't be nervous. In fact, Derek shouldn't even _care._

"I was thinking, maybe…maybe after you and Sam…" Derek spoke haltingly, like someone who'd forgotten his lines in a play. He tugged at the collar of the olive-green sweater he was wearing with long tapered fingers.

"I was thinking if you wanted to hang out with me later this afternoon."

Wyatt cocked his head at him.

"You don't…you don't have to if you don't want to but, I figure we could use that time to…well to talk. You could ask me stuff and I'll answer…that kind of thing."

Derek looked at him, again with a hopeful look in his eyes. Wyatt considered telling him no, but the part of him that had waited for Derek, that had waited so long for _his Dad, _slowly stirred to life within him.

"Are you staying?" he asked candidly. Derek looked relieved that he'd spoke.

"Staying? Where?"

"Here, in Seattle."

He didn't want to try. He didn't want to risk trying if Derek was just going to leave again. Deep inside of him he willed the man sitting next to his mother to say yes.

Derek gave him a small assuring smile.

"Yes, I'm staying."

Wyatt's eyebrows shot up, not necessarily by surprise. A joy he hoped he could quell before it could manifest itself physically exploded within him.

Maybe just this once.

"Okay."

He gave Derek a gift in the form of a small grin. Derek looked back at him almost in disbelief, but Wyatt could see the elation that shone in the older man's eyes.

"Seriously?" he sputtered.

"So what time will that be?" Wyatt fought to retain his cool demeanor.

"Four. Or five. Is five okay? Meredith?" Derek turned to his Mom. His Mom turned to him.

"Wy, is five good?"

"Yeah, five's good."

"Okay." She turned to Derek. "Okay."

Derek nodded. "Okay."

* * *

The rendezvous with Sam resulted in a messy affair, literally. Wyatt found himself rubbing off remnants of pencil lead from his wrists and fingers once every minute.

"So you like to draw huh?"

He and Derek were sitting on the bleachers in the nearby baseball diamond. Denny was once again with them, panting, his velvet black paws crossed neatly on top of the other as he sat.

"You like dogs?" Wyatt motioned to Denny, ignoring Derek's question. Derek reached over and gave the dog an affectionate pat.

"Uh-huh." The older man smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "When I was little my Mom never let me have one. She said one of my sisters was allergic, but she was probably more concerned about it messing up the house."

Denny trotted over from Derek's side to the spot in between them. Wyatt petted him as Denny nuzzled his head on his leg.

"Why'd you name him Denny?" he asked. The warmth of the dog's body against his was comforting. It was a cold day out.

"Someone your Mom and I knew. He used to be a patient. Anyway he was a special guy."

"Oh."

The wind rushed past them, making the withered branches on a nearby tree shiver, dark quivering silhouettes against a cotton-white winter sky.

Silence once again filled the space between them.

"If you'd let me…I'd like to try and get to know you." Wyatt heard Derek say carefully, as though he were weighing his every word. He remembered Sam, and how wrong it felt to be with him more than with Derek. But he also remembered the hurt.

"You hurt my Mom."

"I know. I'll forever be sorry. To you too. I'm sorry. It wasn't fair."

"I can't promise anything," he said, words too grand and big for any nine-year-old. But Derek didn't seem surprised.

"I'll only keep trying."

Wyatt looked at him and studied him. Deep soulful eyes that were watering in the cold, a rough stubble-laden jaw, tight lips and windswept hair. Imperfect. But it was his Dad_. _

His Dad. The words still felt unbelievably foreign yet wonderfully fitting in his mouth.

Derek smiled at him. "Mer raised you well."

"She didn't raise me alone." Wyatt remarked, still rubbing his fingers.

"She isn't ever going to from now on," Derek replied. He sniffed. "Could you give me a chance?"

Wyatt pressed his lips together. Then, ever so slowly, he nodded.

TBC


	8. Prisoner of Hope

**A/N:** This is more of a 'Derek's trying-Wyatt's trying' chapter. I just wanted to show how much effort Derek's putting in, and cementing the fact that Sam's still pretty much in the picture and, like Finn, doesn't look like he's going anywhere soon. The ex-interns will squeeze themselves in pretty soon; this basically revolves around the triangle between Derek, Wy and Sam.

Even though it's late, I'd still like to greet everyone Happy Holidays! Hope you had a good one! Hope you had a great 2006!

* * *

**VII. Prisoner of Hope**

One thing about Wyatt Grey was that he was careful. He didn't let his guard down easily, and it usually took a lot to get under his skin, protective armor he used against broken promises and false hopes one had to get accustomed to with a mother, and godparents cum guardians, like he had.

With Derek's arrival however, he noticed, and quite irritably too, that his guard always seemed to melt into nothingness, something that frustrated a part of him so much he began to wonder if he had a personality disorder. Derek's sudden appearances enthralled him and annoyed him at the same time, like a drug.

He was actually starting to _like_ Derek, with the older man's weird liking for fishing and ferryboats and his ridiculously expensive clothes, even though he really didn't want to. Not yet.

It was all too fast, just too fast. From experience as well as common sense, Wyatt knew nothing that happened or went too fast could be trusted, and he was scared of it.

"Thanks for…" he gathered his voice (thank God for the radio that was playing on low). "Thanks for picking me up today."

It had been Preston's turn. Today was a Tuesday. He'd been surprised to see Derek waiting for him at the gates beside a black Ford pick-up instead of Preston and his godfather's omnipresent BMW, but he couldn't say he wasn't glad.

He fought to suppress it, the uneasy excitement that usually accompanied Derek Shepherd's re-entries, knowing he could be very disappointed once fate (or Derek) found the opportunity.

"No problem. Hope you don't mind though. Preston had a surgery to do."

_Right._

"I brought you a snack," Derek handed him a wrinkled McDonald's bag that had been tucked beside the driver's seat, almost sheepishly.

"Sorry, but I based your food preferences on my nieces and nephews. I don't actually know what you like so there's a salad there, and some chicken nuggets. Juice too."

Wyatt took the bag. He didn't like McDonald's, but he appreciated Derek for trying.

"Thanks. But, for the record, I'm not much for fast food."

Derek suddenly looked worried, realizing his mistake. Wyatt saw as his grip on the wheel tightened, the leather squealing a bit under his fingers as he did.

"I like sandwiches though. Izzie makes the best sandwiches."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for telling me." Derek scratched his chin, an embarrassed smile on his face. "Sorry, I should've asked Meredith...your Mom...before I bought..."

"That's okay."

Wyatt leaned back into his seat, blowing a gust of his breath out forcefully through a small crack between his lips.

"Our class has a play coming up this Friday."

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them and before he could even think them out. Automatically, they strung themselves into a sentence he immediately regretted saying, as though they'd been lying dormant inside his subconscious the entire time like a sleeping time bomb.

"Oh? You in it?"

"Props man," he lied. "I get to open the curtains and stuff. It's nothing. You don't have to watch it if you don't want to."

"No no, I'll be there," Derek suddenly looked strangely excited. It was weird, seeing a grown man so keyed up about something so pathetic as a class Christmas play. Wyatt raised an eyebrow at him.

"What time will it be?"

"Around seven…it's really okay if you can't come. You're a surgeon. I'll understand. And besides I'm just a props man."

"It doesn't matter. I'll be there, I promise."

A sinking feeling inside of Wyatt told him to be prepared to be disappointed. He wished he'd never mentioned the play.

"Okay."

* * *

"So how are you and your Dad getting along?" 

The fire from the fireplace crackled and popped behind them, like infant fireworks. Wyatt stared harder at the mahogany chess pieces that sat on the board on the coffee table that stood between him and Sam. Somewhere upstairs, his Mom had put Elvis Costello on as she took a shower and the music intruded through to the living room, where they were.

"It's fine."

He moved the king. It was getting to be a precarious situation.

"Is he nice?"

He was finding it annoying that Sam cared so much. He cracked one of his knuckles, a habit he'd yet to break.

"Pretty nice."

Sam rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and cleared his throat.

"That's good."

Wyatt found himself nodding. As much as he liked Sam, he wasn't his father. Derek was his father, and he was ready to battle it out for him should Sam make the mistake of saying one wrong word.

"Be careful, Wyatt. I don't want you to get hurt. Hope but don't expect, okay?"

He was surprised Sam even mentioned that.

"I'm always careful," he muttered. "I'll be fine."

* * *

The feeling of having butterflies in his stomach was new for Wyatt. Constantly, he pushed back the thick musty-smelling red curtain that hid the stage from view to peek at the growing audience. 

"Honey, relax, you're going to do great," Meredith knelt down to her son's level and smoothed his robes, her finger easing in each wrinkle, each slight crease.

"Yeah, champ. You'll do fine." Sam winked at him, then raised his hand and gave his shoulder a loving pat. "We'll be right in the front row."

"Is he here? Mom, I actually told Derek we had a play tonight. Is he here yet?" Wyatt lowered his voice so Sam wouldn't hear. He had never felt so anxious his entire life. Uncertainty glinted in Meredith's eyes.

"He has surgery tonight, honey. I don't know if he'll be here."

"He promised."

"I know, babe, but don't worry. I'll be here. Everyone else will be here. Alex and the others have the entire front row covered."

Wyatt felt strange having to admit to himself that tonight, at that instance, he wanted Derek _more. _

"Just concentrate on your lines, hon. I love you."

A lipstick mark made its way to his cheek. Sam gave him a high-five before they left him to get to their seats.

The lights dimmed, and the play started. Wyatt began to acknowledge the sinking feeling that had been there since Tuesday.

He gave the audience one last look before Joseph helped Mary up on the makeshift donkey.

Preston's glasses glinted from the front row, beside a mass of curly hair that was unmistakably Cristina's. Alex sat with Izzie, sharing a milkshake as though they were in a movie, thick coats over their scrubs. George shared the outfit, his face contorted as though he were sympathizing with the donkey that had to carry Mary. His Mom and Sam sat at the end, grinning at the scene of Joseph grunting and heaving Mary onto the poor animal. Sam's arm was over Meredith's shoulder and she leaned against him comfortably.

Practically his whole family was there to support him, despite the busy schedules and despite the full OR board. It was all just a matter of priority.

Derek wasn't there. Derek wasn't coming.

He shouldn't have asked.

A defeated heaving sigh rumbled up from his chest. He was about to turn around and forget when something caught the corner of his eye. A silhouette, waving.

To him.

Wyatt squinted in the hopes of getting a better view and the silhouette moved forward where a spot of light from the stage caught him.

Derek, in a coat and a _suit, _breathless, a satchel in his right hand that looked as though it had been crammed with papers at the last minute, and a video camera in the other. A grin was on his face as he lifted the video camera, seemingly to show Wyatt that he'd come prepared.

Joy burst inside of him and coursed rapidly through Wyatt's veins at the realization that Derek was there, Derek had made it, Derek had kept his promise.

His _Dad _was there. For the first time _ever_.

For the first time since Derek's arrival, a huge unguarded smile swept over Wyatt's face, seconds before he was yanked back into the wings by Miss Lionels to go and deliver his line.

TBC

* * *

**A/N: **Thought Derek wasn't gonna show, didja? Well, I did tell you he's trying. And Derek for me, when it gets to this kind of thing, he's gonna try REALLY hard to get a stake of what's his. Next up is probably a (late) Christmas chapter. I don't know, I haven't decided. But we'll see. For now, please review and tell me what you think. :) 


	9. Mountains Out of Molehills

**Disclaimer: **I actually forgot this for chapter 5 so here it is: NOT MINE. Any resemblance to any story is unintentional. Peace.

**A/N: **Okay, so to clear things up, this story's a MerDer in the sense that they are the couple here. Not Addek, not Maddison or Bang or MerMark. The story is actually more on Wyatt and how he'd deal with the return of Derek. In a way, yes it might have some of that romantic MerDer stuff, but there won't be a lot, because this is from Wyatt's point of view. And I have told you that I'm not sure yet if Mer really does wind up with Derek, or if she'll go ahead and have Sam, because she likes Sam. And he's there. So there. :) It'll be clear once the story takes full swing. You guys have to be patient. :)

Also, I know Cristina's Jewish and Mer hates Christmas but for this story, let's jsut say that Cristina celebrates Christmas for conformity's sake (and Burke's) and so does Mer. Well, Mer does so for Wyatt, at least.

Thank you again for the reviews! I expect you'd be reviewing again for this one because...well...hahaha. Enjoy!

* * *

**VIII. Mountains Out of Molehills**

Cozy holiday jazz music complemented the excited buzz of people huddled over steaming mugs of coffee conversing all at the same time about reunions, presents and soon-to-come Christmas dinners, their laughter and whispers often punctuated by the crinkling of various shopping bags. The strong heady scent of coffee that always seemed to be present whenever Wyatt was out with Cristina dripped in the air, and in the distance he could hear the Starbucks baristas frantically calling out various names of people to come and claim their orders.

He had trapped an oatmeal-colored paper napkin between his palm and the smooth fiberglass tabletop, and the drawing pen in his hand danced gleefully over the fibrous surface. The ink got slurped in and was hastily forming a rather sketchy, but impressively accurate, drawing of his godmother's face. Cristina sat across from him, staring thoughtfully into space and surrounded by an assortment of ribbon-decked shopping bags, her venti cappuccino cup resting beside her hand.

Wyatt reached out and took a rather noisy slurp from his mocha, a drink he was allowed take only when he was with Cristina.

"Okay, Wyatt, I want you to tell me the truth."

Cristina had always been pretty blunt; strong and blunt, like coffee that he'd always associated with her, and that was always present whenever she was around. Wyatt loved her for it.

"About what?"

Cristina had turned to him with a no-nonsense look on her face.

"Shepherd." She said the name with more than a slight disdain in her tone. Wyatt put the cap back on his drawing pen and started twirling it around his fingers, something Izzie had taught him to do.

"How is it…Does he…" Cristina visibly struggled. It was different talking to Meredith about Shepherd. With Wyatt she had to be careful. "Well, do you like him? Stop that, it's annoying."

She motioned to Wyatt's pen-twirling.

"He's okay. He's pretty nice. He bought me McDonald's the other day when he picked me up from school."

"McDonald's?" Cristina's forehead wrinkled and she muttered something inaudible. Wyatt quit with the twirling and moved to tapping the pen in tune to 'Silver Bells' that was playing.

"Why do you guys keep asking me that anyway? It's not like he's going to kidnap me or anything," Wyatt said, studying Cristina's face. Her expression changed into something that resembled what she'd worn when he'd suggested earlier about giving Preston a framed picture of the both of them for Christmas.

"We're just being concerned, Wy-bo. Shep—_Derek,_ well he has really bad timing sometimes."

She deliberately forced herself to stop talking from there before she could say anything that would discredit McIdiot in front of his son, for Wyatt's sake.

"He's okay. I…I kinda like him." Wyatt avoided Cristina's gaze.

When he looked up again, Cristina had pressed her lips together, something that really didn't look too supportive.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Wyatt slurped back the rest of his mocha as Cristina looked on.

"He broke your Mom's heart. I don't want him…I don't want him breaking yours too," she said quietly.

Her statement had stepped beyond Meredith's set rules when it came to Wyatt-Derek conversations, but she knew Wyatt had to know anyway. He looked at her, her beautiful godson who looked unfortunately too much like his quixotic father, the pen he'd been tapping finally silenced and banished to his jacket pocket.

"He won't." Wyatt replied softly. "I won't let him."

Cristina nodded, unsure if Wyatt would really succeed in what he planned to do. The conversation had died a silent death.

"C'mon, we have to go shopping for George's present. And yours," she stood up. "Forget we ever had this conversation or I'll tell your Mom you had coffee."

"With your consent." Wyatt grinned.

Cristina reached out and mussed his head, knocking the beanie he was wearing askew.

"Forget we ever talked about anything and I'll buy you something you'll thank me forever for," Cristina tugged her godson up to his feet and held him close, one of the few affectionate gestures she extended to specific people.

"I'll look forward to it," he laughed, brushing at the crumbs that had collected on the sleeve of his army jacket. He gathered some of the shopping bags to carry, discarding all remains of the conversation from his memory.

Before they left, Cristina secretly snatched the finished drawing Wyatt had done of her and stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans for her to keep, as she'd done for so many of his works.

* * *

The old creaky house on Queen Anne's Hill that was so used to the blaring of rock and roll now swayed quietly to the lulling sound of old Christmas carols, in tune to a steady pouring of rain that beat on the sidewalks and ceilings of busy households, and that had suddenly decided to show as soon as dusk set in. Twinkling multicolored lights Meredith had allowed to be set up even when Wyatt was just a baby dangled from the eaves and windows, and a delicious smell of Christmas turkey floated out through the small cracks the windows had allowed.

Wyatt busied himself with setting the table and carefully surveying the giant Christmas tree that sat in the living room, and that overflowed with a number of multicolored presents wrapped in shining wrappers. Adults weaved in and out of the rooms with food in their hands, careful to avoid him and lifting the heavy plates above his head.

"That's a nice sweater, kiddo," Sam smiled at him as he set down a bowl of scalloped potatoes. Wyatt wrinkled his nose.

"Thanks. Mom always makes me dress up for Christmas dinner." He motioned towards the red Christmas sweater he was wearing over pressed black jeans. It was festooned with white snowflakes. "Izzie always makes us one to wear."

"I see that," Sam grinned as he looked at Preston and George passing by him, dressed in their respective sweaters. George had a smiling snowman on and Preston had candy canes running to and fro his front. "I'm sticking out like a sore thumb."

"Yeah, well…maybe she didn't have your exact measurements," Wyatt supplied, knowing full well that Izzie really wasn't that comfortable with the idea of Sam joining in on their rituals.

The sound of the door opening made the both of them turn in time to see Alex emerging in from the wet night with presents in hand. He hadn't been spared from Izzie, of course, and was sporting a reindeer on a white background under a dripping leather jacket.

"What're you doing standing around for, kid?" Alex beamed at him warmly, then leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. "I say, poke around the tree to get a head start."

He winked and straightened up and shook Sam's hand as he hung up his coat.

"Hey, Sam. Glad you could make it."

It was forced, something that had been happening ever since Derek had arrived. As usual, Sam chose to ignore it and shook Alex's hand, saying yeah, he was glad as well.

A clap broke the disjointed banter, which left Wyatt relieved.

"All right, y'all, dinner's up," Bailey appeared in the dining room, hands on her hips and sounding very much as though she were in the OR. Her façade melted, however, once she bent over to scrutinize the table setting. "Wyatt, baby, these are _gorgeous _place cards."

"Thanks Miranda," Wyatt's voice sounded muffled as Meredith went up to him and held him close to give him a kiss. "Moooom."

"You know I only have a couple of years left before you disown me altogether," Meredith joked as she went to take her seat beside Sam's. Sam held the chair out for her. Cristina chewed on a baby carrot menacingly as Preston did the same.

"Turkey looks good, George. It's a big one." Izzie complimented as George moved the heavy bird to the center of the table. George blushed.

"Alex saw it first, but I caught it with the first shot,"

"I thought George was gonna chicken out." Alex smirked.

"Shut up, Alex, if you know what's good for you. It's Christmas," Bailey scolded as she took her seat between William and Tucker. Wyatt took his own between Izzie and his Mom and surveyed the people that had come to gather and celebrate the holiday with them.

The dining-room table was filled up, as it always was every year.

Someone rang the doorbell.

They all turned their heads simultaneously. Wyatt saw a look of confusion pass through his Mom's face.

"Who could that—"

"I'll get it."

The chair's legs scraped against the hardwood floor as Sam stood up. Johnny Mathis was singing about the most wonderful time of the year as Sam went to open the door.

"That better not be any bleeding-heart salesman or I'll rip his head off." Cristina muttered. "Or that better be someone dying and asking for our help while bleeding on the doorstep."

Wyatt heard the door's hinges creaked as Sam pulled the door open, then a few seconds of a muffled conversation. Meredith leaned back on her chair.

"Sam, who is it?"

"You'd better go see who it is," Izzie suggested, suddenly looking suspicious of something. Meredith nodded, as if she understood the telepathic message Izzie was sending her, and stood up to follow Sam. Wyatt frowned and followed his Mom with his gaze, gripping the back of the chair with his fingers.

Before Meredith could get to the front door, a shuffling ensued and Sam appeared, closely followed by a very wet Derek Shepherd, freezing raindrops dripping all over the living room floor from his soaked jacket, his fingers, his nose. Wyatt saw as his Mom visibly froze in her tracks. A clatter from a fork dropping was heard.

"Stupid. So cocky and so stupid." Wyatt heard Bailey say. "Shepherd, what the _hell _do you think you're doing?"

"I came to…well, I came to give Wyatt his gift." Derek crossed his arms over his chest to keep warm. "It's in the pick-up. I'll…I'll go get it then I'll leave. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything."

Wyatt could see as Derek's eyes hungrily surveyed the scene in front of him: the table groaning with the weight of the food, and the people he knew and whom he'd been friends with sitting decked in Christmas sweaters. He could see a fleeting glint of loneliness in the older man's eyes and a longing…something he didn't mean to see but which he did.

He didn't want Derek to leave.

"Stay." Wyatt's voice seemed unnaturally small compared to Bing Crosby singing 'White Christmas'. He turned to Meredith.

"Mom, can he stay? Please?"

Sam looked surprised, as did Meredith. But Wyatt persisted. Derek may have deserved a lot of things, but no one deserved to be alone on Christmas. And Wyatt knew Derek was alone.

Understanding shone in Meredith's eyes, and she gave her son a small smile.

"Well…yeah, why not? Okay, Derek, you're not allowed to say no. Go upstairs and change, I think George or Sam has some clothes upstairs…"

Chairs moved and scraped as Preston and George stood up to accompany Derek upstairs to get some dry clothes, and Bailey started scolding him as if he were a stubborn child. Wyatt heaved a grateful sigh as Derek disappeared, then caught Cristina's wary eye as he looked back at the table.

"It's Christmas," he said simply, as if he were defending some sort of heinous crime.

"Now Christmas is complete," Alex grinned from his spot, popping a lettuce leaf in his mouth. "We've got drama, and we've got the happy stuff. It's just like old times."

Izzie smacked his shoulder in response.

* * *

He'd gotten the black iPod Nano Cristina had promised, and the cool new Wii from Derek, but his Mom had stashed them in her closet, saying she didn't want him to get addicted; he could only have them every Friday.

Today was a Thursday, and he was bored. Sam was baby-sitting him while everyone else was at the hospital for double-duty.

Sam had given him an electric scooter, and it sat in the garage, gleaming.

"Taking it out for a spin?" Sam asked as Wyatt set it up.

"Uh-huh,"

The scooter sat there like some sort of miniature monster. It had scarlet handlebars and a body made of metal that shone silver under the lights. His Mom had been uneasy about it but she'd agreed he could ride it, just as long as he had his safety gear on.

He had his stuff on. He could ride.

"Okay," Sam's voice had a tone of uncertainty. Wyatt got on the scooter and started it. The motor gave a soft purr.

"Cool," he grinned.

"Be careful, okay? Is your helmet strapped on tight?"

Wyatt slapped his helmet with a gloved hand.

"Tight as a fiddle."

He did a few rounds around the spacious garage. The wheels skidded on the smooth cement but he caught his balance well.

"I'm gonna take it outside, okay?"

He led the scooter out of the garage, Sam following closely behind. He pulled his beanie down further as a freezing winter breeze passed. No cars were in sight; only a few dried leaves skittering past were on the road.

Wyatt gave the scooter a slight push to move it forward.

He hummed a song under his breath as he puttered the scooter around the block: 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas', which had been stuck in his head since that morning. He passed by Mrs. Quentin's house, Mr. And Mrs. Ho's house, and Mr. And Mrs. Sawyer's house. Fences, doors, flowers and steps blurred as he went past.

He wondered if Sam was still watching.

"Wyatt!"

Wyatt didn't know what Sam was calling him for because he didn't see it right away. A loud and long beeping of a horn caught his attention and he twisted his head to the side, in time to see what was coming his way.

The sunlight being reflected off the SUV's headlights blinded him for a second and he covered his eyes with his arm and gripped the scooter's brake in one motion. The scooter slid out from under him and landed with a crash by the side. Pain seared through Wyatt's arm as he heard a snap upon his hitting the ground.

Brakes squealed somewhere far off and suddenly he could hear a lot of things. Blood thundered in his ears. Panicked footfall hitting the concrete seemed magnified. His own yelling sounded foreign.

Sam's face seemed blurry and he wondered if he'd hit his head. Another face, one he didn't know (possibly the driver), appeared, looking as worried and as frightened as Sam.

"The ambulance is coming, buddy, okay? It'll be okay, Wy, it'll be okay."

Sam didn't sound too comforted by his own words.

Blue sky laced with clouds was the only thing Wyatt saw before he forced his eyes shut to help dull the pain.

TBC

* * *

**A/N: **Wanna know what happens next? Clickie on that lovely button way down yonder. :) 


	10. See It Your Way

**A/N: **Thank you all for the nice reviews:) Yes, Wyatt is hurt but not as badly as you think. I don't want any more drama than what Derek and Meredith are causing each other.

To clear things, George and Izzie don't work in Seattle Grace anymore. It's just the way it is.

The third part is hopefully understandable, but just in case it isn't, the ones in italics are the scenes which took place when Wyatt wasn't around to see. It was the only way I could incorporate a grown-ups only scene in a kids' POV story.

* * *

**IX. See Things Your Way**

Seattle Grace had never seemed so alien before. Suddenly, the bright lights seemed harsher, the nurse's gentle touches almost brutal and the comfortable gurneys he was so used to sitting on ultimately harder and colder.

Wyatt was doing his best to not cry as Callie took a look at his arm.

Meredith cuddled him, whispering a long-forgotten lullaby into his hair. A scrape he'd gotten on the side his face from hitting the concrete stung like anything. Alex and Cristina hovered nearby. Cristina was paper-white, an anxious expression contorting her porcelain features, and once every three seconds barking at Callie to be careful and not hurt him as much. Alex, meanwhile, was giving Sam, who stood outside watching worriedly through the glass window, a deadly glare.

"This'll need a cast. His wrist is pretty broken."

Callie moved his arm a last time and pain shot up and radiated through his entire body. Wyatt squelched his eyes shut, a few tears leaking out of the corners and running down his dusty velvet cheeks.

The sound of doors flying open and banging on the walls sounded, followed by swiftly approaching footsteps and voices talking at rapid speed. Preston. Miranda. Derek.

"_WHERE IS HE?_" Derek's voice was like thunder, rumbling angrily and with extravagant force. "Goddamit, Preston, where is my_ SON?"_

"Shepherd, you have to calm down—!"

The doors to the room they were in banged open and Wyatt heard as running footsteps approached the gurney he was sitting on. A faint scent of the familiar cologne tickled his nostrils as trembling callused hands ran their fingers up and down his face, wiping the tears away.

"Wyatt, oh God…oh God, what happened? Are you okay? I was so scared. Jesus, I was so scared…"

He was quickly, but gently, pulled forward and Wyatt buried his face in Derek's chest. Tears he didn't mean to shed trickled onto the older man's shirt and the damp fabric left a wet patch on his cheek.

"I thought I'd lost you…shit…you're here, you're safe…thank God…" Derek was ranting endlessly, his breath shuddering within his chest. "You're safe. Sshhh. It's okay. Don't _ever _scare me like that again. Jesus Christ."

Derek's hand rubbed against his back and slowly, he was pulled away. Wyatt looked up at his father, eyes soaked and sniffling, like a kid. Derek studied his head, mouth twitching and hands still trembling, his bloodshot eyes reflecting fear and relief within deep pools of blue. When he stood back to look at Wyatt, the same blue eyes shone with grateful tears.

It was embarrassing for Derek to see him that way, bawling like a kid, but Wyatt couldn't think of any other doctor he wanted there aside from his Mom.

"You okay?" Derek bent down to his level, his voice cracking a little.

Wyatt nodded.

"You sure? You're not dizzy or anything?"

"I'm fine." His voice was a little more than a croaking whisper.

"Good," Derek said, giving him a half-smile before looking over his shoulder at Sam, who was still outside.

"I'm going to _kill _that bastard."

* * *

Both his parents had ordered to have all sorts of tests run. To check on hairline fractures or hematomas or whatever hypochondriac ailment they imagined.

The tunnel-like cave of the MRI made his ears ring and Wyatt focused on a tiny spot on the virgin white, dome-like ceiling as he tried not to move. The air was as still as a stone at the bottom of a pond inside.

It played like a looped video in Wyatt's head: Derek striding outside with Alex to where Sam was, then punching him square in the jaw before Preston and Miranda went and restrained him just as he was about to go for a second shot. The part where Derek pulled back his arm just before his fist connected with Sam's face always ran in slow motion, like some sort of movie.

His Mom had gone running out after that, then Cristina. Then his Mom had started yelling, then Derek started yelling as well.

_He could've been paralyzed, Meredith! Jesus, he could have DIED. _

_It was an ACCIDENT, Derek! Jesus Christ, we run a freakin' hospital and you of all people—_

_YOU of all people shouldn't leave our son to total strangers!_

_Like YOU'RE not a total stranger to Wyatt, Derek! You're not a goddamn saint or savior here! _

"You all right in there?" he heard Callie call out. She and George had been an item. His Mom had called them her chocolate-cheese couple, a strange tandem. They hadn't been _it _anymore by his fourth birthday for reasons they'd never disclosed to him. But Wyatt liked Callie. He'd often wondered if it was because of Callie that George didn't work at Seattle Grace anymore.

"Uh-huh."

He was probably the only one who'd heard his voice.

* * *

Something had happened, Wyatt could sense it.

_Tensions and tempers ran high and fizzled, almost as tangible as electricity, through the air, making the four walls of the empty conference room they'd had vacated shake and rumble with trepidation, like an awakening volcano. Defiant and accusing tones ricocheted off the surfaces of the walls, the floor, the door. _

_Sam sat in one of the should-be comfortable cushioned chairs, nursing a bruised jaw._

He studied both of his parents' faces as they stood on each side of the bed he'd been lying on since Callie had put on the cast. Meredith stroked his hair, her soft fingers tickling his forehead, as she leaned on the rails that stood like jail cell bars on the sides of the bed. Derek checked the chart Callie had prepared, his brow secretly furrowed at a problem Wyatt knew didn't concern his test results.

"_Every single one of you, calm down!" Preston ordered, slapping the glass tabletop with his palm. "Yelling at each other isn't going to amount to anything!" _

_He turned to his Head of Neurosurgery, who'd opted to stand instead of sit, seething in anger as he glared at Sam. _

"_Derek, you'd better calm down. I'm not having my attendings and residents eat each other's heads off, and I'm not going to let _you _or anyone else punch the lights out of anyone. Jesus, we're grown men and women here! Professionals!"_

"Where's Sam?" he asked softly. It really wasn't the guy's fault that this happened. He felt sorry Sam had to go and get his jaw dislocated by his Dad.

Meredith took a while in answering. When she did, she gave him a forced smile.

"He went home already. He'll see you tomorrow."

"_My child, Preston! He was supposed to watch MY SON! Look what happened!" Derek shouted._

"_This has NOTHING to do with Sam, Derek, and you know it!" Meredith snapped, her blonde hair now free of the ponytail she'd been wearing; it cascaded loosely down on her shoulders in a tangled, panicked frenzy._

"How are you feeling?" His Mom asked, using that tone she always did whenever he was sick. A mix between pity, concern and love. A part of her tone though, betrayed her thoughts.

"I'm okay. Really."

"_What kind of baby-sitter are you, man? You can't even keep your eyes on the kid for one minute! Plus, it was that scooter of yours that…"_

"_Karev! Now is NOT the time!" Bailey snapped, though looking as furious Alex was. _

"_Okay, the minute—no, the _second—_I'm getting my hands on that thing…"_

"_Cristina!" Preston admonished, taking his eyes off Derek a second. Meredith and Derek were staring at each other defiantly, killing each other with their glares._

"How's your wrist?"

Derek had put the chart down and sat on the bed, leaning towards him.

His arm felt like a lead weight beside him, like some sort of dead thing he had to drag around. The cast covered it from the elbow down and it itched like crazy.

"I broke it in two places."

Good thing it wasn't his drawing arm.

"_I WAS watching him…the car, it came out of nowhere and I called for him to stop—"_

_Derek turned menacingly towards Sam and pointed a finger at him._

"_You. Do not get to talk. Not now. Not ever about anything that has to do with my child."_

"_You selfish prick!" Meredith exclaimed, her gray eyes wide. "How _dare _you! Wyatt is not only YOUR child!"_

_Derek turned to her, his eyes steely and cold._

"_No. Wyatt is your child. He is my child. God forbid, he's also THEIR child," he motioned towards the rest of the doctors in the room. "But he will never be _his _child. Not ever. I don't care what you do with your life now, Meredith, but when it concerns Wyatt, you can be sure that I will be there and that I will goddamn interfere." _

"Does it hurt?"

Derek's voice was soft and his eyes had more than a tinge of misery in them, but a small smile drew up his face the second Wyatt answered.

"Like hell."

Meredith gave a tiny laugh.

"Just for today, young man, I'll excuse you for saying that," she told him.

Derek reached over and kissed the top of his head.

_Anger flared in Derek's face. Meredith squinted her eyes at him, her temper rising by the second._

"_This has _nothing _to do with Sam, does it? What are you really mad at, Derek? What are you really so PISSED at that you can't even hold a decent conversation now without yelling? That you can't even do a goddamn surgery with me and look me in the eye?"_

_She saw him as he clenched his teeth, his face flushed. He locked his eyes on hers; his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as though he were holding back tears. It was one of those heartbreaking looks that she knew too well_

"_He's the only one I have left." His voice wavered. "I'm not going to have anyone jeopardize that."_

"Derek—your Dad—" Wyatt heard as her voice faltered, "and I are here, okay? We all think keeping you here overnight is for the best, just in case. You know the drill, baby, don't you?"

Wyatt nodded, the coarse pillow his head was resting on making a scratchy sound as he did.

"But we'll be right here if you need us," Derek supplied assuredly. "Right here."

_Meredith felt as though her insides had been turned upside down when, at that moment when silence settled in the room, she confirmed what she'd always thought Derek really meant. _

"Are you guys okay?"

Wyatt dared to ask as an uneasy silence fell. Derek and Meredith had been avoiding each other's gazes since they entered, and common sense told him that his Mom's consistent twiddling and Derek's haunted look went hand in hand.

"Did you fight or something?"

"Stop worrying about us, honey, and just focus on getting better, okay?" His Mom gave him a kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering on his skin longer than usual, as though she were afraid he was going to disappear. "I love you."

Derek didn't say anything right away, but just gave him one of his toothless smiles.

"I'll come back later to check on you. I'll bring a sandwich."

Derek gave his uninjured hand a fond squeeze, one that spoke more than what he could have ever said. Wyatt nodded, noting that his Mom didn't even say anything as Derek left.

Grown-ups were worse secret-keepers and liars than kids were.

* * *

A/N: Do _you _get what Mer realized? Haha. More to come next time!


	11. Dancing in the Shadows

**A/N: **I've nearly made up my mind on whom Meredith will end up with. I don't know if you'll see it here because I didn't really make it obvious, but there are undertones. Or maybe not. Haha.

* * *

**X. Dancing in the Shadows**

Sam came in to see him the following day, as promised. The plaid shirts had been replaced with crisp polo shirts that rested underneath warm v-neck sweaters for the winter, but the jeans stayed. The left knee was slashed a bit in the way you knew was intentional and the ends were frayed, just like some of his own were.

"Hey, kiddo." Sam smiled, wincing a little before placing a hand on his jaw. The sun shining in through the windows shone on him and his hair glinted golden.

"Look, I'm sorry I got you in such a mess…"

Wyatt played with the sheets.

"It wasn't your fault. Forget about it."

It really wasn't. He was old enough to know when something had been the fault of someone. This wasn't one of those things.

"Your Dad doesn't like me very much, I can tell," Sam rubbed his jaw gently, taking a seat by the bed.

"Don't worry about it. He's grouchy to some people."

Not true. Derek was, in fact, very amiable. Except to Sam. Wyatt wished that would change soon. He cared probably as much as Sam did about Derek liking him.

"Anyway, how are you feeling?" Sam produced a package wrapped in shiny red paper and held it in front of him. "I brought you a gift. Not too harmful this time. Your Mom's after me for getting rid of that scooter and believe me, I will. I'll just buy you something else."

Wyatt smiled at him, taking the package and then abruptly tearing it open. A battered copy of _The Great Gatsby _landed on his lap.

"Thought you'd like that. I loved it as a kid. Fitzgerald's a great writer," Sam scratched his head. "I was wondering if you were maybe too young for it but I remembered you were Wyatt Grey."

A small chuckle escaped his lips, as though he were amused at a secret that had just popped into his head. His eyes shone with a mirth Wyatt recognized, but they disappeared quickly.

"This was yours?" Wyatt felt the crisp yellow pages between his uninjured arm's fingers, taking in the musty smell of it as he did. It was certainly well loved, despite the small scribbles and doodles on the front cover and flyleaf. _Samuel Owens _was written in a messy teenage scrawl on the inside cover. "Awesome. Thanks!"

He smiled genuinely at Sam, appreciating the gift tremendously. He'd seen _The Great Gatsby _on one of Preston's bookshelves before, but he'd been too young to read it then.

"You feeling okay?"

"I feel great." Wyatt told him. "Wish I could get out of here, though. The food's bad, but Derek sneaks me Oreos and other stuff Mom wouldn't want me eating."

He squinted at Sam's jaw, examining the purple and yellow black spot that had formed on his skin where ink-splattered fingers now oh-so-carefully touched.

"You okay?"

"Never been better. Preston fixed my jaw." Sam gave an assuring smile. He reached out and gave Wyatt's uninjured arm a gentle pat. "Anyway, I'd better get going, before I cause an uproar. And I have to check out what's been going on at the Garret house, remember the one I told you about?"

The huge mansion on the hill, Wyatt remembered. He nodded. He was disappointed Sam was leaving so soon.

"I'll drop by the house later to see you again." Sam said, straightening up and tugging at the ends of his sweater that had bunched up from his sitting down. "Bye, champ."

Wyatt felt terrible for Sam. He probably felt really bad about the whole thing. He was half-sorry it was because of him that everyone was probably giving him a hard time.

"Hey wait," His eyes darted in search of a marker. "I got a cool cast, thanks to you so, would you like to sign it? You'll be the first one."

He looked at Sam hopefully, willing for him to nod and smile like what he'd usually do. Sam's fingers itched the way his did whenever he held a good pen in his hands. The blank surface of his cast had been pleading for his attention since last night, but now he wanted nothing better but to let Sam draw whatever he wanted on it, even if it were some crazy house plan.

The older man gave him a toothless smile.

"Maybe later, Wy," he said quietly.

Wyatt felt a pain in his heart when Sam turned and left, hopefully not for forever.

* * *

An hour after he was discharged from Seattle Grace, Wyatt sat on the well-worn sofa in their living room in his GI Joe pajama bottoms and a baseball shirt, basking in affectionate hugs, ruffles and a shower of trinkets his devoted godparents bestowed on him. He was chewing on one of the chocolate pecan cookies Izzie had baked especially for the occasion as Meredith whispered "I love you"s in his ear, which made him blush slightly. The happy exchange between his godparents and himself reminded him of the old days, when life wasn't all that too complicated.

The air was thick with the smell of Kraft's Three Cheese Macaroni, which he loved and which was one of the few things his Mom could cook properly. Preston and Derek had gone back to the hospital for scheduled surgeries, leaving half-wilted promises of returning later with four-cheese pizza and Chunky Monkey ice cream for everyone. Sam had yet to show.

"Don't ever scare us like that again," George said, giving him a taut smile that still showed signs of worry. "When Alex called Izz and I, God, I almost dropped a scalpel into a man's stomach."

"Fortunately he just sprayed blood all over the place," Izzie giggled deliciously, leaning towards Alex as she did.

"I knew that Sam was gonna be trouble," Alex shook his head. "You have a guy that's too perfect then _whammo!_ disaster strikes."

He slapped his fist against his palm for added impact.

Wyatt saw, as Cristina looked slightly disturbed at Alex's comment, then as her eyes were cast sideward to meet his Mom's gaze. He felt uneasy, with Sam being talked about with such condescension between Alex, George and Izzie, who'd squashed themselves up into the other sofa. He pressed himself up against his Mom and squeezed her hand with his good one, feeling her palm cold as stone against his.

"Is Sam coming, Mom?" he asked softly, looking up at her and gazing into her eyes that were gray like a stormy Seattle morning.

"No, babe,"

Meredith had always treated her son like an adult. Someone who was intelligent enough to understand whatever hidden feelings they projected. She was thankful that Wyatt understood and accepted things easily because of it; sometimes it was easier that way.

"Is he gone?"

Wyatt could swear he could see a few tears welling up at the bottom of his Mom's eyes.

"I don't know, honey."

* * *

His second night home, Derek came to share a dinner of takeout Italian shrimp and tomato pasta, and to tuck him in after watching that night's episode of Jeopardy. He would've protested at the second activity, if only the painkiller medicine Callie had given him didn't make his eyelids feel as though there were lead weights resting on them. His Mom stood watching by the doorway, her hand on her chin, as Derek moved around his bed and tucked the duvet in, his hands expertly folding in the corners and smoothing out the creases.

"You…uhhh…do you want a bedtime story?" Derek almost stuttered at the question.

Wyatt couldn't help but let a burst of laughter take flight through his lips, like a flock of birds. The question was utterly ridiculous.

"I'm too old for that," he said. "But thanks for offering anyway. I'm reading a…" A yawn stretched his mouth open into a small cavern. "…something already."

"_The Great Gatsby? _Aren't you a little too young for that?" he heard Derek ask, the rustling of pages sounding almost like the crunching of leaves in autumn. "How's your arm?"

"You have little faith in me. I'm Wyatt Grey," Wyatt answered as though that explained everything. He giggled a little, recalling Sam's answer. He was only listening now, having surrendered to the silence of the darkness behind his eyelids. "My arm's fine."

He was aware as Derek moved closer to kiss him, lips awkwardly, but very soon comfortably, resting against his scalp before pulling away, followed by the ominous scuffling and muffled clacking of leather shoes on the wooden floor. Derek's cologne clung to the still air inside his room, reminding him of ocean-blue eyes and indigo scrubs. That scent would always belong to Derek.

His Mom turned on the player that sat on his chest of drawers: 'Something' by The Beatles.

They were going to talk. Wyatt strained to stay awake.

_Something in the way she moves_

_Attracts me like no other lover_

"Meredith, I can't do this…I can't go on like this."

"What do you want from me, Derek?" His Mom sounded like a tearful second-grader.

_Something in the way she woos me_

_I don't wanna leave her now…_

"I _love _you, Mer, you _know _that." Derek's voice cracked, making it sound almost like a whine. "I never stopped loving you. You knew that the first minute you saw me back here. You _knew._"

"I _can't_, Derek, you know I can't."

_Somewhere in the smile she knows_

_That I don't need no other lover_

"What's stopping us? What's wrong? I want to try again, Mer; _please_ let _me_ try. Let me try and build a family with you, like we should've done long ago."

"That's exactly what we are, Derek. Something that happened _long ago."_

_Something in her style that shows_

_Don't wanna leave her now…_

"You can't be serious…"

"I don't know, Der. I know Wyatt means a lot to you…but I just can't go through all that again. I can't have Wy go through _any_ of it."

"I'm not leaving, Meredith."

"You _promised _me you wouldn't be making this difficult! I already told you, Derek. Sam. _I have Sam now_. And I'm not willing to let him go just because the North wind blew you back again. Don't make me _choose _between the two of you. You have no right, Derek. No _right._"

"I'm not trying to _hurt _you, Mer. It's just that…this. I can't do this. I can't just watch _my_ child being raised by another man. I can't watch you with…with _Sam_ without wanting to…"

"Wyatt is still practically a stranger to you! He's Sam's child as much he is yours! God, Derek, don't do this to me." A slap on the wall. "Don't. Please don't."

"Please try with me one last time…"

_I don't wanna leave her now._

His Mom was crying now, but sleep was pulling him further and further away from reality. The last few words she spoke, he caught as though they were wisps of a dream:

"I don't think I have anything left to give."

_You know I believe her now._

TBC

* * *

**A/N: **You guys are so nice when it comes to reviews. Thank you all! And what do you think the pairing will be:)


	12. Too Deep an Ocean to Cross

**A/N: **The Gatsby book actually had a role. I just had to incorporate it; it's one of my faaaaavorite stories.

No pairing here yet. I'll keep you guys guessing. Hehe.

**

* * *

**

XI. Too Deep an Ocean to Cross

Four days before school was about to start, Wyatt sat in the Seattle Grace cafeteria with Preston, as they contented themselves with a tray of French fries smothered in thick ketchup mixed with streaks of mustard, a common favorite between the two of them.

"What went wrong between my Mom and Derek?"

Wyatt looked expectantly at his godfather, licking a smear of ketchup from his thumb and immediately feeling the tartness of it spiking his tongue like an expected surprise. His wrist had been healing nicely, Callie had said when he'd gone for his check-up that morning, but no he couldn't take the cast off yet, even though it itched like crazy; he had to stick to the six weeks that had already been planned, despite his obvious links to the administration of the hospital.

Preston appeared startled at the question, his shoulder visibly twitching after it was aired. He looked up at Wyatt, his eyes shining with feigned innocence, and bit off neatly the end of a long fry he held between his fingers. Oil from it shone on his lips.

"Have you tried to ask them?"

"Please," Wyatt rolled his eyes. "They both think I'm a baby."

"What makes you think I don't think that?"

Wyatt grinned at him the way he knew made Preston fold: "It's 'cause I take after you the most."

Preston chuckled, shaking his head. The front of his doctor's coat was now slightly smeared with a few rubs of grease.

"Why do you want to know about that all of a sudden? You were never interested in it before."

"No reason. Just that, they seem like they have something to settle. They talk about it _all the time, _whenever they think I'm not listening. When Derek comes over." A blob of ketchup fell on his blue AC/DC shirt. Wyatt promptly rubbed a moist finger over it. He didn't know if Preston was frowning because of the stain he'd created or because of what he'd said.

"Talk about what all the time?"

"Them. Me. The future. Other junk like that." Mustard dribbled from the fry he was eating down to his chin. Preston went and wiped it off with his handkerchief with a quick flick of his hand, as efficiently and as precisely as he did whenever he was in surgery. The blue and white kerchief vanished into his coat pocket an instance before Wyatt popped another fry into his mouth and smeared ketchup on his face.

"Well, maybe you'll find out about it when you get older," Preston said fondly as he cleaned up Wyatt again. "Like when you learn to actually keep food in your mouth while eating."

"Ha-ha." Wyatt licked his fingers before wiping them clean with a stained paper napkin, one of the million he'd already used.

"Anyway, it isn't that fascinating, Wy. It was all just a couple of misconstrued ideas, wrong decisions and a whole lot of…"

"Preston."

Wyatt turned his head to the side, his thumb still latched into his mouth. A woman, a tall _beautiful _woman, with red hair and sharp green eyes walked towards them. Her long ivory legs moved as though she were dancing in a ballet, her steps graceful and coordinated despite the pointy black pumps she'd worn to match a skirt and blouse that appeared as if they'd been snatched from a designer store's mannequin.

She stopped when their gazes locked, halting in her tracks like a deer in the middle of the road. She looked startled, and Wyatt knew she was examining him from head to toe, her emerald eyes drinking him in as though he were…well, something interesting. He frowned.

"Hello."

He didn't know what else to say. The woman looked as though she were expecting him to say something, or do something spectacular.

"Addison."

Preston cleared his throat, though he sounded surprised. Automatically, he stood up like the gentleman he was.

"Is there a problem? What are you doing here?"

"No no, I've actually finished." Addison snapped out of her reverie, taking her eyes off the boy who was _unmistakably_ a Shepherd, if she ever saw one. "I've performed the surgery, and now both mother and child are on the road to recovery."

She moved closer to their table, keeping a careful eye on the tousled little boy who looked as wary as she felt.

"I was wondering if…well, if there was anything else you'd like me to do now that I'm here, because if you don't, I'd really…well, I'd be catching the next possible flight back to New York."

Preston nodded, understandingly, patiently. He shared a look with Addison Wyatt had never seen him share with people outside their small group of friends. He studied Addison, how she bit her lip, and how she looked downward, tufts of her strawberry blonde hair falling into her face as she did, when his godfather patted her hand as he told her softly:

"Don't worry, he doesn't know you're here. I specifically ordered the staff to keep things quiet."

"Thank you, Preston."

"Thank you for coming on such a short notice, Addie. I appreciate it," Preston stood shook her hand, a warm smile lighting his features.

"Anytime," she answered, her smile small and tight, as though it hurt her to even be there. She squeezed Preston's hand, noting the gold band he wore around his finger. Seattle Grace seemed more settled now than what it had been when she and Derek had left in a flurry of suitcases, papers, and defeated nods.

"This is Wyatt, by the way,"

Preston extended his arm towards Wyatt and Addison turned to him, giving him a tiny grin.

"My godson," Preston clasped his hands behind his back, something he always did whenever he wanted to appear professional instead of personal. "Wyatt, this is Dr. Addison Montgomery."

"Hello, Wyatt." Addison tucked her hair behind her ear but didn't move towards him. She kept her distance, as though there were a wall that stood between them.

"Hello, Dr. Montgomery."

The distance perhaps, was of an unconscious effort, but Wyatt didn't mind. Addison seemed nice, if not a little angst-ridden. He wondered if it was a trend, all the adults he knew going through some kind of crisis.

Addison turned to Preston one last time after she said her goodbyes, her beautiful face crumpled a bit with the full realization of who the boy was, but balanced with the smooth expression of acceptance that glazed her sight with tears.

"He's got his father's eyes."

And she squeezed his hand a final time, her smile a bit wider now, before walking away, throwing Wyatt a friendly goodbye wave as she went.

* * *

It was 10 PM, and Wyatt was snuggling with Meredith, her arms wrapped protectively around him as they lay on her massive bed, warm under the down comforter. Wet Wet Wet was playing on her stereo on low and was half-lulling Wyatt to sleep. He yawned, stretching a bit to find a cool spot for his toes.

"I am _so _glad you're still this small." Meredith sighed happily, breathing in the sweet scent of her son's baby shampooed hair.

"I'm not _that _small, Mom," Wyatt giggled. "I'm almost taller than you."

"We'll see about that." His Mom tickled his ear, which made him squirm. "Excited for school?"

"Unless all I'm gonna do there is draw, then no, I'm not excited," he told her honestly. His Mom jabbed his side in response and he laughed.

"That was the part where you were supposed to say 'Oh yeah, Mom, I can't wait because I love school so much since you pay a whole lot of dough to keep me there'."

"Aren't you glad you raised such an honest kid?"

"Smart aleck. Your cast is looking pretty good," commented Meredith, sneaking a peek at the once-white plaster: Wyatt had painted his name in, and had drawn assorted little cartoon figures up and around it, even a little black dog. Meredith recognized more than one person her son had inked in, but kept silent. She fingered the small cartoon George and smiled.

"Yeah, isn't it? I'm gonna have Izzie take a picture of it before they take it off." Wyatt snuggled closer to his Mom. "Hey Mom, can I ask you a question?"

Meredith's reply was a sleepy one: "Uh-hmm."

"What made Derek…why did he move away the first time?"

He felt as Meredith's hold on him tightened a little, which she masked by moving a bit on the bed at the same time. Her breath against his neck felt warm and comforting, but it was held in a little a few seconds after he asked.

"It doesn't matter, babe." The answer came finally, accompanied by a pretend sleepy grunt and a kiss on his head. "He's here now, isn't he? And you guys are getting along with each other, which is the only thing I want."

"Mom?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"You and Sam…you aren't getting…you know…anytime soon and just not telling me, are you? Wait, you're still together, right?"

"Oh babe. Sometimes I wonder if you being too smart is my fault or the American media's." She rubbed his arms. "He's just busy now, Wy, with the Garret house, and no, not as far as I know. He's just my boyfriend, hon. No one's rushing into anything yet. Either on starting or getting out."

"It's not because of me that he's not showing up, is it? It's not because everyone's…mad at him or anything?"

"God, no, honey. Relax. What's wrong, Wy? What's with all the questions all of a sudden?"

Wyatt buried his nose in the pillow his head was laying on. The cool linen was comforting. He didn't know why he was asking; he just wanted to. He felt as though he _needed _to. The absence of Sam's presence knocked his entire reality askew somehow. Even with Derek there, he actually _missed_ Sam. When everyone else had been too busy, Sam had been there. But when Sam was there, he missed Derek. It was all too confusing.

A kid couldn't have two dads.

"Derek's not leaving again, is he?"

"I don't think so."

"Sam either?"

"Hopefully not, babe."

Wyatt missed his old life sometimes. He missed the relaxed routine they all underwent, with just him, his Mom and his crazy godparents. With Sam and Derek, the thickened atmosphere in the house was veined with tension and anxiety, spider-cracking as each minute passed. Days were filled with spontaneous visits, as well as promises broken at the last minute and hearts breaking over and over again. It was a harsh reality to go through every day, but without it, Wyatt felt incomplete. He could never fall back into his normal routine again without missing the bubbling glee he felt whenever Sam or Derek did manage to keep promises, or the way his heart leapt whenever he saw their cars parked outside.

"Okay." He nodded. "Good."

* * *

Secrets follow people. You'd think they didn't, but they do. The more haunting they are, the more they'd appear in the most mundane things. In an address typed on a letter envelope, for example, or even the passing phantom scent of autumn. They tail secret-keepers like shadows, begging to be unearthed and laid to rest. Sometimes, they escape by themselves, and other times, the secret-keepers let them escape, too exhausted at the notion of fighting once more to keep them in.

Wyatt still had much to learn about secrets.

He sat with Derek in the black pick-up, sipping pink lemonade through striped straws from sweating Snapple bottles, with Denny panting in the back seat. His cargo pants now had damp dirt stains on them from kneeling around on the ground while they'd been at the park, trying to wrestle the Frisbee from Denny's mouth. Derek's gloves had been abandoned on the dashboard: the leather on the palm of the left glove ripped from the nasty encounter with the thorny bush Denny's collar had snagged itself on.

"So, Wyatt, have you finished your book yet?"

Derek always found it difficult to start conversations. Wyatt always gave him credit for trying.

"What book?" Wyatt slurped the remains of the lemonade noisily before letting out a refreshed sigh. "Gatsby?"

"Uh-hmm." Derek passed a spare treat to Denny from his coat pocket before turning to look at his son, who was in the middle of peeling away the tinfoil on a sandwich Meredith had had him bring along as a snack.

"Yeah. I didn't get it much though." Wyatt shrugged. "But he's a great writer. I like how he says stuff." He bit into the sandwich. "He was in love with a girl, right? Gatsby? That Daisy girl. She loved him."

"Yeah," Derek nodded, hurriedly drawing in what he remembered from the novel, eager to teach Wyatt what he could. "But he thought he wasn't good enough for her, so he went away to make something of himself first."

"But when he came back and he was already rich, Daisy had married someone else."

"Uh-hm. To a…Tom Buchanan, I believe," Derek smiled, proud he'd remembered. Wyatt frowned.

"But Gatsby still loved her. He didn't stop loving her, even when he knew they were hopeless."

The smile on Derek's face faltered a bit, then it disappeared completely. Derek covered it up by running a hand through his hair, then replacing it with a small smile almost identical to what Wyatt remembered he had seen on Dr. Montgomery.

"Yeah, Wy. That's what he did."

Wyatt shook his head, as he bit into the sandwich his Mom had made him. Peanut butter oozed into his mouth like cool, creamy lava pockmarked by raisins.

"That's stupid."

"Excuse me?" Derek frowned, an expression similar to what Wyatt had worn a few seconds earlier.

"He stuck himself in a rut. He could've been happier, but he chose to live in a soap opera. I think it's stupid. It's moronic."

A brief silence filled the car, and Wyatt used it to savor another bite of his food, the warmth of the bread seeping through his gloves. His Mom had toasted it right before they'd left.

"Wyatt Grey, you are grounded."

Wyatt snapped his head to the side in surprise. Derek was looking at him in a way that Wyatt knew he was in trouble. It was a mix between a look of disbelief and something deeper. Wyatt had seen his teachers wearing the same look before, and usually half their expression had come from the fact that they knew he was right, but wished he'd just kept whatever it was that he'd said to himself.

"_What?_"

"You're grounded. I'll be telling your Mom." Derek said, his lips tight. A flicker of anger glinted in his eyes. A click from the ignition made the engine rumble to life.

"For what?" Wyatt sputtered, almost dropping his sandwich. "I didn't do anything! And besides, you can't ground me."

"Young man, I don't approve of the language you just used. Stupid. Moronic. I won't have you going around and spewing that kind of stuff."

Derek clutched the wheel, looking as anxious as he was annoyed. Wyatt fumed, knowing full well that he did nothing wrong.

"People say 'stupid' and 'moronic' all the time! I know some adults who use worse words."

The tension in the car had built up to something that was on the brink of an explosion. Wyatt glared at his father and Derek stared back, the tips of his ears red. Denny barked in the back seat, pleading whines filling in the pauses between each one.

"That doesn't make it okay for you to say them."

"It was just to enhance an opinion!" Wyatt couldn't believe they were even having this conversation. He raised his voice to drown out Denny. "I think Gatsby is a moron. I think he's stupid. I'm allowed to have an opinion, aren't I?"

"If there's one thing you have to learn, it's to not insult what you don't know, Wyatt. And _don't raise your voice at me._"

"It's just a _stupid _book, Derek, what's the big deal?" he studied his father's face as he spoke, looking for clues as to whatever was wrong with him. Derek didn't look him in the eye; his fingers constantly moved and his head consistently twitched to turn from one direction the next.

"You are _still _grounded."

"You can't ground me!" Wyatt cried out in disbelief. "You don't even _live _with us."

"I don't _have _to live with you. I'm your father and I tell you that you've done something wrong and I can _ground _you for it because that's my job."

Wyatt felt as something inside him snapped and as his face flushed red. The leather chair he was sitting on squealed as he shifted his position violently to face Derek. And for the first time ever, he actually _yelled _at a grown-up.

"It's _not _your job! It's my _Mom's_ job! You've only been my father for a few months. You can't tell me what to do. I don't have to _listen _to anything you say."

The words stung him, probably as much as it did Derek, but it had to be said. He didn't know who was angrier, him or Derek. But Derek appeared more shocked than angry. Also, he seemed to be more infuriated at something else. Something Wyatt wondered if he'd ever know about. Waves of guilt passed through him and Wyatt struggled to regain control. Preston and George would be _so _disappointed in him.

"I'm sorry. That…was rude."

Derek didn't say anything. He just backed the car out of its parking space, his eyes locked on the view straight ahead and his teeth clenched. His jaw was so tight that a tiny bone jutted out from his skin. The gravel crunched noisily under the tires, sounding a bit like bones breaking. Wyatt pondered on apologizing once more, but pride blocked his throat and the words he was about to say settled at the back of his palate to die a silent death.

"I'm not mad at you, Wyatt."

They were nearing Queen Anne's Hill. Wyatt slouched in his seat with a frown cutting through his face, destroying all evidence of what had been an enjoyable afternoon.

"It's just that…things…there are a lot of things…you don't know…"

"You won't tell me what they are either." It was an old song. He'd heard it all before.

Derek gave him a weak smile.

"I take back what I said about you being grounded." He patted his son's shoulder. "Sorry, bud. I got a little carried away."

Secrets, if you let it, can run your life.

Wyatt looked at his shoes, his annoyance quickly dissipating. The twinkle was back in Derek's eyes.

"S'okay. See you on Friday?"

But if you don't, and rein them in as often and with the best effort you can, things might actually be okay.

"Okay, buddy."

TBC


	13. Paint the Sky with Stars

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait, lovelies. I had to catch up with my studies. :) Anyway, this will be a very Derek-centric chapter. If you're good at looking through the clues, you'll get...nothing. Because I left no clue connected with the pairing. Or maybe I did. Haha. Depends on how you look at things. :)

As Addison made a cameo the last chapter, the Chief will too in this one. Though his cameo will be a tad bit depressing. I'll leave you to find out for yourselves.

Title came from a song by Enya.

* * *

**XII. Paint the Sky with Stars**

Visits to the man Wyatt had always known as 'Grandpa' (despite the obvious non-relation) were rare, spontaneous moments that would always leave him in limbo between sadness and happiness once they'd leave to go back home. He didn't know who exactly Grandpa was, only that he was a dear friend of his mother and godparents. He didn't know why Grandpa lived where he did, and how he ended up there. His Mom always seemed a little bit sadder every time they visited him; Wyatt supposed that was the reason why they always had to bring someone else along.

George drove them to the nursing home.

"Hello, Miss Grey, Wyatt," the woman Wyatt knew as Lisa smiled at them and nodded as she stated each of their names. "Mr. O'Malley."

"Good day or a bad day?" he heard his Mom ask softly.

"Confusing day, really. But it'll be better for him to have visitors." Lisa turned to Wyatt. "Would you like to see Grandpa, Wyatt?"

"I'll come with you, Wy-bug." George placed his hand on the back of Wyatt's neck. Meredith nodded, urging her son to go ahead.

"I'm going to talk to Lisa first. I'll catch up with you guys later."

The nursing home always smelled somehow of old roses, pungent and nostalgic of a dead era. Wyatt never figured out why. Grandpa's room, however, always smelled of mints and antiseptic.

Grandpa was standing by the huge bay windows when George led Wyatt into the room. His huge frame blocked out the morning light that streamed in like a golden waterfall and his hands were clasped behind his back. George squeezed Wyatt's shoulder as the boy wondered if this would be another day of repetitive introductions among the three of them.

"Richard."

The old man perked up his ears at George's voice and he turned around slowly, as though he were being interrupted from his deep thinking. Even as a silhouette, Wyatt could see the old man's features clearly, from the crop of white hair that rested on his head, to the gentle mouth that was currently laced with a frown.

"Derek?" He could see as the frown deepened. "Is that you, boy?"

Wyatt tensed, pressing against George. He felt as George's body too grew taut. Derek? Did Grandpa know who Derek was, too? Was it even _his _Derek he was being likened to?

"He knew your Dad too," George murmured, bending a little towards his ear. "Once upon a time."

"Come here, boy," Grandpa said, his voice rumbling and rolling like a soft roar of a bear. "I need to talk to you. Who's that with you?"

George gave Wyatt a gentle push and Wyatt shuffled towards the two chairs by the window, his Nikes _shoop-shoop_-ing on the carpet. He saw as Grandpa's face fell upon seeing George.

"Thatcher Grey," the old man breathed. He turned to Wyatt with searching soulful brown eyes. "Derek, do you _know _Thatch? And boy, what happened to your arm?"

Wyatt had no idea who Thatcher Grey was, and he felt slightly uncomfortable now. Grandpa had never acted this way before. He tugged on the ends of his Hendrix concert shirt and cracked his knuckles surreptitiously.

"I told you to quit on those damned motorcycles," Grandpa muttered. "Have a seat, please, the two of you."

Wyatt noticed George looking slightly pale once they'd all settled into the upholstered seats. Grandpa claimed for himself the window seat, pulling his dressing gown tighter around him as he did. Wyatt took note of the pens that sat professionally in the breast pocket of Grandpa's pajamas, like a doctor's would. He knew Grandpa had been a doctor once at Seattle Grace, even without the help of the framed pictures that rested on the nearby mahogany bedside table.

He was more than startled when the older man suddenly covered his face with his hands before bursting into bitter tears, the sobs garbled as the old man tried to keep them in to no avail.

"Thatch…Thatcher…forgive me. Oh God, forgive me. I've betrayed you…I've stepped over the line and I've betrayed you. Oh God, I love her. I can only wish I could find it in myself to love Adele the same way but I don't…I'm sorry, Thatch. I'm sorry."

Grandpa's body heaved frightfully with each sob, and Wyatt felt his ears go red as the scene unfolded.

"I've ruined your home…I've destroyed what you had. God knows what something like this has done to your child…oh God, Meredith…I'm sorry…you had to know, Thatcher. I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. Ellis wouldn't have told you, but you had to know."

George wasn't even looking at Wyatt anymore. He was staring at his shoes the entire time Grandpa talked, but when he finished, Wyatt watched as his godfather licked his lips and looked up at the old man, pity and understanding almost glowing from his face.

"It's all right, Richard." George spoke slowly. He reached out and with a trembling hand grasped Richard's own, wrinkled and veined with age and memories. Grandpa was still sobbing, but he nodded.

"I love Meredith as though she were my own. Every time Ellis brought her around with her, I never felt as if I were a stranger to her. I love how she smiled, and how she giggled. I won't dare hurt her. Oh God, Thatch, if that child grows up unhappy, it'll be my fault. Please do whatever you can to make her happy…"

The tear-rimmed brown eyes turned to Wyatt in a slow gaze. Grandpa's velvet brown face shone where the sunlight hit it.

"Derek. You love her. You still do and don't you dare deny it. I love Addie. God, you know I do, but Meredith… I love you like a son, Derek. For the love of God, don't be like me."

Wyatt's gaze suddenly fell past Grandpa and onto the pictures on the bedside table, a window to what were probably happier times. Younger faces of his mother and godparents and a _new _one, one of a much younger Derek and a much younger Grandpa laughing together within a black wooden frame, were bunched together by the antique lamp.

"Promise me you'll do _everything _to make Meredith happy."

Wyatt bit his lip. From the corner of his eye, he could see George still holding on to Grandpa's hand but refusing to meet his gaze, as though some secret part of his and Grandpa's long-begotten past had met halfway and crashed head on, shards of it now glittering on the carpet by their feet.

"Derek."

Wyatt somehow found the courage to nod, feeling strange now that some of the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. Somehow.

"Yes, I promise."

* * *

The sleepover at Derek's place was inevitable. Wyatt had expected the date to come, but he hadn't foreseen it to be sooner rather than later. It came anyway, whatever he'd thought, and one rainy Friday afternoon, his Mom picked him up from school and dropped him off at Derek's place, which was an apartment unit in some swanky building downtown.

"You call if you need anything, all right?" His Mom held his face in her hands. Her fingers were cool against his skin. "Or Preston, if I'm not there. Or George. Or Alex. Or Izzie…"

His Mom had attachment issues.

"Mom, Mom. I'll be fine." Wyatt told her. "Derek and I will be fine."

"I know." Meredith had sighed and brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead. "I'm just not used to this…kind of thing. Okay, I'll stop now before I burst into tears. I'll see you tomorrow, honey."

He knew Derek was watching them. He'd been leaning on the living room doorway the entire time while the goodbyes took place. After several million hugs and kisses, and after Wyatt had been shooed away to the TV room, he watched Derek, who had his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, approach Meredith. Wyatt's hair half-hid his face as he peeked out to watch, his nose pressed against the wooden doorframe.

"Thanks for bringing him, Mer."

"You asked for a chance, Derek. You should thank Wyatt. Don't mess this up." His Mom looked dwarfed with Derek in front of her. She was hugging herself and avoiding eye contact. "You're going to tell him tonight?"

"Yeah, I will. Will you be all right alone in that empty house? You can stay here with us if you'd like."

Meredith gave him a wry smile.

"You don't have to worry about me, Derek. Just have a nice time with your son. I'd appreciate it if you don't convert him into a Clash addict while you're at it."

His parents' conversation didn't last much longer. A small, authentically amused laugh by Derek ended the talk. A small peck on the cheek then a quiet goodbye; a click on the door made all traces of Meredith disappear. A heavy sigh from Derek.

It was eight o' clock now. He and his father had peacefully coexisted for at least three hours.

"How'd you like the place so far?"

He and Derek were sitting on his bed in the guest room, him in his pajama bottoms and an old Vote for Nixon shirt and Derek still in his sweater and jeans, playing on the Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots that Wyatt had found on Derek's mantle piece. His sketchbook lay open nearby, with a half-done drawing of Denny that he'd abandoned for the moment. Denny eyed them from his spot on the floor beside Derek's basketball and a pair of unlaced Adidas trainers that belonged to Wyatt. The wide-screen TV that was placed on the wall adjacent to the bed was set to the cartoon channel, but neither of them was watching.

"It's nice. You're pretty messy for a doctor, though," Wyatt said, remembering the organized mess that filled every nook and cranny of the spacious, and most probably expensive, apartment. There were books and papers everywhere, held down by an assortment of paperweights ranging from an iPod to a baseball to a wine glass. "You're worse than my Mom."

Derek laughed, glancing up to look at his son. Wyatt was frowning in deep concentration, intent on winning.

"Your Mom's still messy, huh? Apparently some things never change…"

The neck of Derek's robot sprung up and Wyatt cheered, raising his arms in the air.

"And apparently I still stink at this stupid game," Derek scratched his head, smiling. "That's the third time you've beat me, even with that arm of yours."

"Some people just have it," Wyatt grinned at him, then let himself fall back on the bed, splaying his arms and legs on the cool mattress.

"How come you don't have any pictures around? It's kinda weird."

He hadn't seen any pictures when Derek had shown him around a while ago, only pricey furniture and about a dozen flashy appliances, as well as the paperwork that seemed to occupy every available space there was. They'd even had their pizza dinner beside patient files.

"Oh…no special reason. Pictures…they distract me. They make me remember."

The smile Wyatt received was tinged with pain, and he looked away to stare at the immaculate ceiling. He remembered Grandpa and how he always felt sorry for him to be surrounded by so many memories, but not remember whom any of them who occupied his dreams were. Now he felt sorry for Derek, who was probably just as worse off, but only because he remembered _everything_.

He decided this was the best time to ask.

"Did you and my Mom…did you love each other?"

Wyatt kept his eyes on the ceiling and he listened as Derek's breathing hitched. He felt a hand rest on his head, but Derek stayed silent. His heart had begun racing through his chest, and he felt the study thumping of it underneath his shirt.

"I have a picture of you at home. With my Mom. I found it in our kitchen. We have a lot of pictures, but I think that was the only one she had of you."

All those empty, quiet years they'd spent flashed by in Wyatt's mind; the questions, the secrets. The father-shaped space willingly filled up by George, Preston and Alex. He remembered his Mom had used to cry a lot when he was younger, for no reason he could understand.

Wyatt plowed on, unable to stop. He had to know. Derek had to know that she'd waited.

"I think she continued loving you for a long time…"

He turned to Derek who was gazing at him with sad, tired eyes, dark and still as a midnight sky.

"I think I came back too late."

Derek's voice was quiet, all traces of happiness that earlier had been there wiped out. The lowered volume of Spongebob Squarepants' voice was even louder than his. He looked defeated, an expression he'd seen on Sam before as well.

"Do you…do you still love her?"

Derek forced a smile, a clear indication that the question wasn't going to receive an answer. He withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair.

"You ask too many questions."

"I like to think that they actually make sense," Wyatt answered, trying to be lighthearted. He sat up and put the Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots away to clear space on the bed so he could finish drawing. He decided to stop asking. Clearly, Derek didn't want to remember, and he didn't think he wanted to know himself either.

It could wait. In the meantime, they were better off changing the subject. Wyatt blurted out something that he meant to be encouraging, something that had come from the bottom of his heart.

"Don't worry, Dad," he shot a comforting smile towards Derek. "You'll always have me."

He didn't realize what he'd said right away, only noticed that Derek suddenly perked up, a genuine grin slowly creeping across his face. Crow's feet crinkled around the sides of his eyes and his ears flushed red.

"What?" Wyatt asked, suddenly self-conscious. He rubbed his face with his hands, thinking he'd stained himself with ink or graphite.

Derek shook his head, the grin still evident on his face.

"Yeah, that's right," he said. "I'll always have you."

Wyatt nodded solemnly, then returned to looking at his drawings, ones that Derek had praised earlier.

"I've always wanted to hear that word."

Wyatt looked up at him, now fully realizing what he meant. He gave his father an almost-identical smile.

"I've always wanted to say it."

He wondered if it was tears shining in Derek's eyes, or delight or pride, but it didn't matter. A choked laugh escaped from the older man's lips and, for the first time, Wyatt reached over and wrapped his arms around him.

His guard collapsed fully, crumbling to dust at his feet. Tears he never realized were there escaped, startling him a bit. He held on to Derek tightly.

"Mom waited, but I waited for you, too," he sniffed. "They said you'd never come back, but you did. Don't go away, okay? Don't go away or I'll hate you forever. I waited for you for too long."

Derek didn't answer right away, but he didn't let go either. The only words he said, Wyatt heard were whispered by his nape, and he kept them close to his heart:

"I don't think I'd still be here without you."

* * *

The ringing of the phone on the other end of the line seemed endless, an infinite bleeping that was starting to hurt Wyatt's ears.

He bit his lip impatiently, wishing and praying that his Mom would answer soon.

"Hello?"

Meredith's voice was thick with sleep. Wyatt heaved a sigh of relief.

"Mom? It's me."

"Wy? Are you okay?" His Mom suddenly sounded alert. He heard in the distance the scratchy sounds of the duvet on the sheets as she moved. "What's wrong?"

Wyatt didn't know if he could tell her. He glanced warily at Derek's closed bedroom door that was down the hallway. He'd never been afraid of the dark, but Derek's living room looked eerie without the lights on. Despite that, however, he felt as though he could fly.

He focused on the living room windows and strained to see the city outside through the translucent frost that clung to the glass, just so he could keep his excitement in.

"I'm okay, Mom, really, I am. Derek and I are having a great time."

"That's good, honey. But what's wrong? Why are you calling so late?"

"Mom."

He couldn't say it. His mouth couldn't form the words. Up until this time, he felt an unexplainable glee that burbled within him like a fountain.

"Wyatt. Just tell me, babe. It'll be easier on both of us. What's wrong?"

Wyatt brushed a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Nothing was wrong. Nothing could _ever _be wrong with this.

"Mom, he wants me to change my name. Derek asked me if I wanted to change my name into Shepherd. And if he could have joint custody of me."

There was silence on the other end. Wyatt's heart started racing again.

"He told me…he told me you and him had talked it over. I told him that I'd ask you first."

He heard as more sheets moved. He imagined his Mom pulling the covers up to her chest and hugging her knees, something that always made her look like a little girl.

"Do you want to, honey?" she asked. "It's your choice, Wy-bear."

Wyatt held his breath in, tiptoeing on his feet as he shot another glance at Derek's bedroom door.

"Is it okay with you?" he asked.

"We wouldn't be talking about it if it weren't. He's your Dad after all, babe. He wanted to ask you first before we did things."

Meredith's voice was soothing, but her words warmed him to the tips of his toes. Wyatt couldn't help but grin. He felt giddy and elated. He imagined himself a rocket. He'd shoot up to the moon and back, leaving streaks of fire in the sky and knocking stars and planets out of their orbits.

"I've been waiting for him since forever, Mom," he said, as though it explained everything.

Well, to him it did. There was no other explanation.

There was a second's worth of silence between the two of them. Wyatt could just imagine his Mom nodding her head.

"We'll start fixing it when I get there tomorrow, babe."

He blew an elated breath off his chest and his shoulders lifted up as though they'd been relieved.

"Thanks, Mom. I love love _love _you."

"I love you too, Wy-bear," she told him fondly, her voice filled with a thousand sweet hugs and kisses that would keep him warm throughout the night. "Now get back in bed before your father catches you up."

Wyatt told him he loved her one last time before he put down the phone.

His life hadn't been perfect as of late, but this, _this _was as perfect as it could get. And for a minute, he actually forgot about Sam. This was all about him. Him and Derek. Him and his _Dad_.

There was going to be no sleep tonight.

TBC

* * *

**A/N:** So this is the first time I'll be explaining a chapter using the Author's Note. Haha. I felt like it needed some.

The Chief having Alzheimer's like Ellis did depressed me. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't not put him in. He provided Wyatt's last key to finding out Derek's real feelings. I'd hate to see a real Grey's episode with the Chief being that way. He's one of my favorite characters.

It was about time Wyatt finally called Derek 'Dad', and it was all thanks to the Chief. If you noticed in the other chapters, he was keeping Derek still at a distance. Here, that ten-foot pole that's standing between them has vanished and, for the meantime, Wyatt's forgotten about Sam. Because he's so psyched about the full realization that his Dad's really there and isn't going away, and because Sam hasn't shown up for while. We'll see where that leads them to.

To find out what'll happen next, you'll have to stick around and see. :)


	14. Fire In Your Eyes

**A/N: Okay, I'm not dead. I'm soooooo sorry for disappearing for so long. To cut a lengthy story short, real life got in the way: computer crash, school, lost flashdrives, more school, that kind of stuff. I'm actually really busy now because I'm going abroad for the fall semester so my university's bringing on the work for me. Ugh. It's not very pretty.**

**Anyway I won't keep you waiting for long. I know you guys have been awaiting the revival of this story. Don't worry, I'm not giving up on it. Just be really **_**really **_**patient. Thank you so much though for still reviewing! I'm sorry for being such a bad fanfic writer. I try but…guh. I'm sorry. **

Here it is! Enjoy!

**XIII. Fire in Your Eyes**

It was only a matter of days, several hours of recounting to lawyers and judges the story of their intertwined lives, and one appearance in court before Derek's last name finally made its way into all of Wyatt's legal documents, it's arrival announced by the gavel ringing clear and true in the nearly-abandoned courtroom, as the judge announced with a kind, weathered voice their fate:

_By the powers vested in me by the state of Washington, Derek Marcus Shepherd and Meredith Aster Grey are hereby granted joint custody of their offspring, Wyatt Slater Grey-Shepherd. _

Derek lifted him up when it was over, laughing, and spun him around in circles so fast Wyatt thought they were going to fall over. A flash told them that Alex had taken a picture. Upon careful scrutiny of it later, it was seen that Meredith had been caught in it, standing by the side with her mouth open in a full laugh and her hands pressed against each other in mid-clap, her eyes dancing with a joy Wyatt had never seen before.

"You're finally mine," Derek had breathed onto his neck in mid-hug, right after the court proceedings, his voice shaking slightly.

"I've always been yours, Dad," Wyatt had told him gently, as though his father was going to break if he said one wrong word. "You just didn't know I was there."

Their first, rather accidental family picture stayed. Dark, teak frames bordered the fairly grainy illusion of what they could have or could have had, almost as though it were something that could keep the fantasy caged in, untouched by truth and time. Wyatt knew better, but he didn't mind.

The daydreams could stay, despite the obvious technicalities. He'd waited far too long.

* * *

Sam finally dropped by an afternoon, just as spring was settling into the thawing landscape. 

Wyatt practically leapt with delight when he spotted the familiar black Porsche as it parked itself in front of the school gate minutes after Cristina's own gleaming silver Benz. When Sam emerged from it, with the easy, casual air he always had, Wyatt automatically let go of Cristina's hand to launch himself onto him, feeling his eyes grow as big as dinner plates.

"Sam-a-rama!" Wyatt held on to the older man's waist tightly, almost afraid that he would disappear again. The side of his face pressed hard against the row of buttons that ran up and down Sam's shirt. He smelled of chewing gum and a strong, clean scent of soap and Burberry cologne, like he'd just showered. An excitement Wyatt hadn't felt in weeks exploded inside of him.

"Hey, hey bud, how've you been doing? You okay?"

The smile was back and Wyatt was glad. He was lifted from the ground in one motion and embraced in a tight hug, his face against comfortable plaid he recognized and had missed. He was dizzy with ecstasy when his feet finally touched ground again, and the world spun with a rapid rate, almost as fast as his beating heart.

"What took you so long? Where've you been? I've been growing a beard here just waiting for you to come back!"

Sam laughed and mussed his hair. "Man, look how you've grown! You're taller by, what, like two inches? I should watch it, you'll end up being taller than I am!"

The attention was carefully turned towards Cristina, after the older man looked away from the boy to acknowledge the harried, yet still quite polished, woman standing a few yards away, dressed in a Marc Jacobs jacket buttoned over her scrubs, half her lip being chewed on by a set of perfect ivory teeth. Cristina stared back, looking surprised and fully apprehensive, studying the stranger none of them thought would come back.

"Cristina," Sam held out his hand, his body bent a little as he tried to balance with Wyatt's weight that was countering his. He motioned towards Wyatt's backpack, which she held tightly with her one hand as the other precariously balanced a venti cappuccino and her car keys. "I'll help you with that."

"No no, it's okay, I can handle it." She avoided his reach and threw a look at Wyatt that he didn't quite understand. "Um, if you want to see Mer she's on duty today…"

"Yeah, I dropped by the hospital before I came over here. If you want, Cristina, I'll take him home so you can go back to work," Sam offered. He looked down at Wyatt and smiled again. "You and me, bud, we've got a _lot _to talk about."

A pitiful look was thrown towards Cristina's general direction by her godson in an attempt to plead with her. Her eyebrows knitted into a slight frown.

"Well, I'm not really sure…" Cristina sighed and ran a hand through her unruly curls. She surveyed the scene with more than a slight air of displeasure. This would undoubtedly put her in a perilous situation with the McDad, who was still, quite actually, her _boss_.

"Wyatt, your Dad's expecting you at the hospital," she said, her hand making small circles in the cold, still air. "C'mon now, kiddo, I've got a really important surgery coming up in, like, half an hour."

Wyatt tried again, standing his ground. "I'll just see him later. Please, Cristina? I really want to go with Sam."

He gave her a more imploring look, his uninjured hand clutching the back of Sam's shirt. He sensed as Sam stiffened uncomfortably and as hands were shoved into pockets.

"Hey, uh…look, Wy, if your Dad's waiting for you now then maybe we can just hang out some other time, huh…? I mean, I really don't want to get on his bad side and…"

Wyatt shook his head firmly: Meredith's defiance, honed through years with Alex Karev.

"Nothing's gonna happen. I can stay with him, really I can. Nothing will happen, I swear. Right, Sam? It's gonna be okay."

He brought out the heavy artillery for the kill. His godmother closed her eyes and rubbed her temple when he did, and he knew exactly why.

_That look._ Ten years ago Cristina would've scoffed at Meredith for telling her about how a pair of _someone's_ pretty blue eyes could make a heart melt. It was quite unfortunate that that certain someone had strong genes; Derek'spretty blue eyes, softened somehow on Wyatt, had helped her godson win pleading contests such as this one hundreds of times before, especially in Cristina's case.

Wyatt grinned the second his godmother sighed, a clear sign of a surrender.

"Wyatt Slater Grey—" Wyatt saw the split-second hesitation that glinted in Cristina's eyes as her lips started to form the word 'Shepherd'. The word died mercifully with the passing breeze. "You know how to push my buttons all too well."

A second passed gracefully before a full admission of defeat was confirmed.

"All right, Owens, you win." She tossed him the backpack. "Make sure he's home by 6, or both Derek _and_ Mer will freak. You know as well as I do that you _don't_ want that. No drugs, cheap booze or cigarettes. You know the drill." She turned to Wyatt, whose bright blue eyes were dancing with pent-up euphoria. "Wy-bo, if your Dad freaks, that'll be your mess to clean up, okay?"

"I promise."

"Right, I have a surgery to catch. Bye, munster," she kissed Wyatt affectionately on the forehead, his soft curls pressing against her face. Wyatt returned the gesture by nuzzling into her neck, her jasmine lotion sweet and delectable in his nose. She left after a few final parting words with Sam, curling her fingers up and down at Wyatt as a small wave before she sped away.

"Didn't think I'd make it out of that one," he heard Sam say with a relieved chuckle.

Wyatt turned to him, beaming at his calculated triumph, and gave him a playful punch in his arm. Sam grinned down at him, his hand jingling coins and keys that sat in his pocket.

"We've a _lot _to talk about," Wyatt told him as-a-matter-of-factly.

"I agree." Sam nodded. "Do you want to hear my excuse first?"

"Right after you buy me a peanut butter milkshake for making me wait so long."

"Deal."

"And a submarine sandwich."

"Uh-huh."

"And a round of NBA on the PS2."

"You'll just beat me again." Sam pretended to look worried. Wyatt giggled. He reached out and held Sam's hand, rubbing his soft palm against the older man's rougher, bigger one, smudged with pencil lead and ink stains from stubborn drawing pens.

"Don't worry," he said, "because you came back, I'll let you win this time."

* * *

Sam had already been there nearly two weeks. Without warning or question, he and Meredith eased back into their old habits; only, a bigger step taken became painfully obvious as Wyatt noticed a new routine taking place. 

One lump in his Mom's bed gradually became two. Two places at the dining-room table became three and, all of a sudden, socks and jeans that weren't his or his Mom's found their way into the laundry pile. Even the basement, his own private sanctuary, wasn't spared: Wyatt entered it one day only to find out that a drafting table had been installed by one of the walls.

Despite the intrusion, Wyatt thought that it was actually nice having Sam around. Sam became Wyatt's default companion on Seattle Grace's busy days, so there was always plenty of pizza, wrestling and drawing lessons to be had. Plus, his Mom seemed to have been glowing ever since Sam's arrival. She was actually happy, and he was glad.

"He and Mom danced to Chuck Berry the other night when Mom was on her day-off. They really suck at dancing and they spilled a lot of wine, but it was fun to watch," Wyatt recounted as he bounced up and down in rhythm to Perry Como blaring out of Derek's speakers. Math homework had been temporarily abandoned for a round of chess (which Derek had won; "I'm not gonna be easy on you!") and now it was being postponed further as Wyatt watched his father fix dinner. The smell of melting cheese and cooking chicken from Derek's cordon bleu (straight from a box bought from the supermarket and thrown unmercifully into the oven) dripped in the air.

"I tried to dance too, but it was impossible with my arm; it keeps throwing me off balance."

Wyatt cupped his hands around his glass of chocolate milk as he watched Derek move about the kitchen in a dazed manner, like a boxer who'd received several punches too many, a glass of red wine in hand. As soon as dinner was set to cool, he set himself against the kitchen island, his attention centered on empty space. Wyatt was about to say something else when Derek blinked, as if forcing himself to concentrate, then turned to him with a small smile.

"Chuck Berry, huh? Your Mom having fun?" Derek spoke into his wine.

"Uh-huh…" Wyatt stopped, then rethought his answer. He bit his lip and studied his father, who hadn't been as talkative when Wyatt had started talking about stuff happening at home. The realization that struck him in an instant nearly blindsided him.

Oops.

"Ohhh Dad…it doesn't…I mean I'm sorry if this bothers you or something…I've got a big mouth sometimes…I shouldn't have—"

He thumped the back of his boots against the chrome legs of the bar stool he was sitting on. Nervous habit. Derek gave him a tight smile in return.

"Relax, kid, I know he's there. It was only a matter of time before you told me about what he and your Mom have been doing."

Wyatt felt himself go red. He suddenly wanted to disappear.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"What matters to me is, how are you faring with that setup? You okay?"

Derek had started moving around the kitchen again so as to not meet his eyes. It was a trick Wyatt had learned long ago from Alex; he hadn't thought his Dad actually used it. Wyatt squirmed in his seat, unsure of what he should answer.

"I'm okay. I mean, it's okay…I'm not, you know, uncomfortable or anything," he finally said, rubbing circles onto his sweating milk glass.

He glanced up at Derek, who was clearly listening despite his many self-imposed activities around the kitchen. A silence was starting to settle between the two of them, and Wyatt didn't like it.

"Dad…?"

"That's good. That you're okay with it," Derek looked up at him, another frozen smile stretched across his face. Wyatt almost winced at the expression.

"If we keep on talking about this we'll probably never finish and you still have Math to do." Derek raised the casserole dish that contained the cordon bleu. "C'mon kiddo, wash your hands. Dinner's up."

Wyatt slid himself off the stool, studying Derek as he made his way towards the sink.

"Dad, I'm sorry I mentioned—"

Derek gave him a strange, almost hostile look. For a second, Wyatt saw something flicker in his eyes, turning them into a cold electric blue. Then it vanished, and the Derek he knew was there again, looking very tired and world-weary.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. C'mon, forget this, okay? You have nothing to worry about."

He reached over and gave Wyatt a kiss on the head. Wyatt could feel a gust of his breath part his hair.

"He's a nice guy, Dad…" Wyatt said quietly. "But, you know, he isn't you…"

Derek gave a small laugh.

"I'm not threatened at the least, kiddo. Don't worry about it."

Now Wyatt knew quite a lot about secret emotions, and he knew that oftentimes, people were betrayed by them. Sometimes it was a twinkle caught in their eyes, or a slight shaking of their hands. In Derek's case, a slight tremble caught like tuft of fur on a fence in his voice echoed in Wyatt's mind like a twang of a guitar string. He licked his lips, and patted Derek slightly, hoping to give his father even a little comfort he knew Derek didn't feel as of the moment.

"Okay, Dad," was the only thing he could think of saying. "Okay."

TBC

**A/N: If you didn't get it: Derek's having issues. Jealousy issues. Of whom? Sam and Mer? Or Sam and Wy? Or both?**

Not sure when I'll update this again, but I will. Thank you all for your support! I promise I'll try to get it back on track as soon as possible. :) 


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